Unstable
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: Harm is being stalked by an insane woman, also an ex-Marine, who’s escaped from an asylum. Chapter 8 up: The truth is finally revealed.
1. Rescued

__

_JAG_

"Unstable"

By

et-spiritus-sancti

Disclaimer: Based on the hit show, "JAG". No infringement intended. All characters belong to "Balisarius" productions except for Private Arial Thomas. No profit being made.

This is my first JAG fic. I've been watching the show for a while and I think I've got most of my facts straight enough for me to write a fic. If you notice anything technical that's wrong, please mention it so I don't  
embarrass myself further with my lack of information. . .lol Though in the beginning, it may sound similar to the Jessica Lynch rescue,  
this is in no way reflecting the incident. Warning: This is a very angsty story concerning what happened to Private  
Thomas.  
  
Thanks a bunch for readin' my story! ---Sanctus  
  
(A/N) I'm not sure if Quantico has an asylum so I've conveniently put one  
there. How kind of me, *snicker*.  
  
  


 Chapter 1: Rescued

Rostav Prison, Chechnya  

So cold. Wet. Dark. Their voices, so hard and their hands too strong. She'd been broken down. A United States Marine had been broken down into this bag of bones and used for only their pleasure. She did not even fight anymore. She let them use her, and she didn't care. It was frightening, at first, as one might imagine. They'd come in at any hour of the night, whenever they wanted her. All she could do was scream as two of them held her down and the other smeared himself on her again and again. She tried to picture home. Anything to distract herself from the pain. It hardly ever worked. She soon found that it was useless to fight. But they liked it that way. They liked seeing her fear them and whimper in obvious pain. So she finally realized that if she didn't display any emotion, they'd get bored. It wasn't as fun to them. But once they'd leave, all she could do was weep. Weep for her home for help that never came. And she had to wonder---why hadn't she been saved yet? Why hadn't he come for her? Did he even care? 

***

"—and this just in, the missing Marine, Private Arial Thomas was rescued last night. But her condition seems to quite unstable—" Harm switched the radio off before he could even comprehend what the reporter was saying. He lied there a moment slowly letting his senses come to. Rain fell softly outside and Harm sighed as he rose slowly to a sitting position. Another Monday. Why did he suddenly feel like he should go back to sleep?

***

1430 ZULU

JAG Headquarters

"Well, you look like hell." Mac said as she poured a cup of coffee. 

Harm merely grunted in response as he took the Marine's cup. Mac chuckled and filled another mug. "Bad weekend?"

Harm shrugged and he sipped the coffee and then scrunched his nose in disgust. "Did Tiner brew this again?"

Mac took her mug back and sipped it. She made the same expression. "I think this is from Friday."

Harm made an incredulous chuckle. "Wonderful." 

Mac started to brew a new pot when a report on the overhead caught her attention. She sighed and shook her head. "Unbelievable." She murmured as the ZNN report talked about Private Thomas's rescue. Harm let his eyes wander to the set as well. 

"The CIA has finally found the location of Private Arial Thomas, a native of Virginia, who was reported missing in action four months ago." The reported said, "The eighteen-year old Marine was rescued last night from a Chechen prison nearly a hundred miles from where her platoon was stationed. Private Thomas is somewhere in the United States at an undisclosed location, but we've received reports that her current condition is critical. We'll have more information for you as this story unfolds." 

Mac shook her head again in obvious disgust. "I can only imagine what they did to that girl."

The report then displayed a formal picture of the Marine. Harm blinked a couple of times as he stared at the photograph. Mac glanced over, noticing Harm's dumbfounded expression. "What's wrong?"

Harm started. "I—nothing. She—she just looks familiar." 

Mac narrowed her eyes. "Well, they've only been showing her picture since her disappearance." She said sarcastically.

Harm bit his lip. "Yeah, but—I haven't paid too much attention to it."

Mac shrugged and was about to reply when Tiner walked up to them, standing at attention.     

"At ease, Tiner." Harm said with a yawn. 

"Sir, Ma'am, the Admiral would like to see you."

Mac nodded. "Thank you, Tiner."

Harm turned to leave, but stopped. "Oh, and Tiner, try to remember to empty the coffee pot _before Monday rolls around." _

Tiner glanced over at the half full pot, his eyes widening slightly. "Uh, sir, I did. I brewed this an hour ago."

***

"As you've undoubtedly heard," Admiral Chegwidden said, "Private Thomas was rescued last night."

The two officers nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Thomas is being treated at Bethesda, but she's apparently being transferred to the Quantico Asylum."

"Quantico _Asylum, sir?" Harm inquired._

The Admiral nodded. "She's suffering from acute schizophrenia. Apparently, she's had it mildly most of her life, but she's kept it under control with medication."

"And the Marine Corps accepted her, sir, despite this?" Mac asked. 

"Evidently they didn't even know she had it," Chegwidden said as he read the report, "And she didn't bother to tell them. Anyway, whatever happened to her in Chechnya triggered severe symptoms and they've got her chock-full of drugs to keep her under control."

Harm skimmed over a file in his hand. "It says here that she was separated from her platoon during a routine training mission. She wasn't even in Chechen territory."

Chegwidden repositioned his glasses. "That's why I'm sending you to Quantico to investigate. We want to know why she was separated from her platoon and how she ended up in Chechnya."

"Aye, sir."

***

1330 ZULU

Quantico Asylum, Near Quantico Marine Corps Base in Virginia 

From the outside, it looked like a prison. The two JAG officers looked up at it in wonder, and in fright. Harm had heard a good portion of stories about Quantico Asylum. It held some of the most dangerously mentally ill people in the United States. Most of the patients were rescued POW's. These people had endured endless torture and were always surrounded by death. Now they were prisoners trapped in their own minds. Most of the residents here would probably never leave. Harm took a deep breath and opened the door for Mac. The Marine strode swiftly in, determined not to be undermined by the insanity of this place. 

 The inside was how Harm imagined. White walls. White tile floor. And not a patient in sight. Anyone walking around was doctors, nurses, or guards. The officers walked up to the counter where a sour-faced nurse was typing away at a computer. Harm had to clear his throat to get her attention. The nurse glanced up and glowered at them. She was obviously discontent with the fact that she'd been interrupted. 

"Can I help you?" She said jadedly.

_You can change your attitude._ Harm wanted to say. "I'm Commander Rabb, this is Colonel Mackenzie," He instead replied, "and we have an appointment to see a patient." 

The nurse sighed heavily and glanced back at her computer. "The patient's name?"

"Private Arial Thomas." Mac said. 

The nurse stopped typing and eyed the attorneys. "Are you sure?" She said suspiciously.    

"Quite sure." Mac replied. 

The nurse bit her lip. "All right, but it's your funeral. And the other guy's." 

"What other guy?" Harm queried. 

"Webb something." The nurse said with wave of her hand, "He came in a few minutes ago."

Harm and Mac quickly exchanged glances. "Great, all we need is Webb to be lookin' over our shoulders the whole time." Harm whispered to Mac. The Marine sighed. 

The nurse then hollered at a passing guard. "Hey, Bill, did you put the restraints on Thomas?"

The kid nodded. "Tried to, to give her breakfast. Didn't work." He then pointed to a fresh bruise below his eye. 

"Direct these officers to her room."

The guard hesitated for a moment. "Uh, okay. Um, right this way." 

Harm and Mac followed the kid down the desolate hallway. "So, uh, what are you guys doing here?" The guard asked. 

"We're from JAG."

Bill nodded in understanding. "Oh, right, the, uh, Advocate General thing. You guys are lawyers, right?"

Harm felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He'd never really heard it described that way. 

"You guys gonna try to figure out what happened to Thomas?" Bill said as he directed them up a flight of stairs. 

"That's the goal." Mac said dryly. 

 As they neared the door, sure enough, there was Webb, waiting for them. He had dark circles under his eyes suggesting that he'd been up all night. 

"Afternoon, Commander, Colonel."

Harm nodded. "Hey, Webb." He said, quite unenthusiastic. Mac smiled at the CIA operative to make up for Harm's bitter reply. 

"I take it you'll be shadowing the interview?" 

Webb nodded. "Of course. The CIA got her out of this; we have a right to know what happened to her."

Bill cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I wish you the best of luck. Our doctors can't get anything out of her. All she does is fight."

"Well, maybe she'll calm down when she sees familiar uniforms." Harm suggested. 

The kid chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure she will." Bill peeked through the small window in the door before unlocking it. "Right, I'll be outside here the whole time." Bill said, opening the door. 

The room was pitch black. "Why are the lights off?" Mac asked as she tried to adjust her eyes to the dark. 

"Oh, she freaks out when they're on. Take a flashlight." 

 Harm took the flashlight and shined it into the room. The light landed on a pair of feet that belonged to a huddled figure in a far corner. The room was a bit larger than a prison cell. Probably eight-by-eight feet. A cot rested in the corner, but all the sheets were torn off and spread out on the floor. Harm inched in closer to the huddled figure, Mac right behind him. Webb lagged behind a bit. 

 Harm then heard shallow breathing and the girl whimpered, hugging the wall. As he got closer, Harm knelt down to come to the girl's eye level. "Hey." He said softly. Harm raised the flashlight a little, trying not to get too much light in her face. Scraggily, shoulder-length, brown hair covered her face and the girl winced as the light shined on her. Mac knelt down next to Harm and studied the girl's frailness. 

"How are we going to question her like this?" She whispered. Mac brought her hand out, hesitated, and then gently brushed a lock of Thomas's hair away. The kid exploded in a fit of screams and punches. Harm and Mac fell back, but she attacked them. Kicking, screaming, punching, giving everything she had. Harm then heard a sharp shriek, and a body landed on him. Harm shook his himself away from the girl's limp body. He could make out Bill in the dark. Webb was behind him, breathing heavily. The guard held a syringe in his hand and sighed. 

"Sorry about that. I'll strap her down and you can try and question her when she wakes up." 

Harm shook his head as he helped Mac up. "No. She needs to trust us. We'll be in the waiting room. Tell us when she starts to come to."

***  
  
TBC  
  
***  
  
Keep going?


	2. Lift Thy Voice

Hey, thanky for telling me what you think!  
  
monica: hey, thank you for being my first reviewer and giving your support!  
  
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Syd49erSix: Thank you for the encouragement. It means *so* much!  
  
Rachel: Thanks! Hm, well, there might be somethin' with Harm and Mac---if there is, it won't be the center of the story though. There might also be a certain "catfight" scene in further chapters with a jealous Mac and our insane ex-Marine. . . . .  
  
starryeyes: thank you very much! I hope ya come back for more!  
  
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corinne: Thank you for the suggestion. I did put a warning in the beginning notifying that it would be very angsty concerning Private Thomas. It's also why this is PG-13. I'll be more specific. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
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flyboyfan: Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad you like it! I promise this chapter will deliver more info on Private Thomas and what will happen in the future! (And I really liked your story, too! Keep it up!)  
  
ashley: Thank you! It's interesting to write it!  
  
Disclaimer Correction: Lol, oops, it actually belongs to, "Belisarius." Misspelled it!  
  
CAUTION: The history of Private Arial Thomas has rape-relations as was shown in the first chapter. I also failed to go into detail concerning this warning in first chapter. I'm sorry if anyone was offended.  
  
~sanctus  
  
Chapter 2  
  
1500 ZULU Quantico Asylum Quantico, Virginia  
  
Mac let her head lean against the vending machine as she stared at that last Three Musketeers bar that, as luck had it, had gotten stuck. And of course she was out of change. Webb suddenly came up behind her and put fifty cents into the machine. Mac chuckled.  
  
"Thanks, I'm starving---" But her smile disappeared as Webb pushed for a Snickers bar instead.  
  
Webb nodded. "So am I. Want some?"  
  
Mac shook her head. "I'm allergic to peanuts." Webb shrugged as Mac turned around, resuming her seat next to Harm. The Navy Commander looked particularly perturbed as he read the file in front of him.  
  
"What's that?" Mac asked.  
  
"Thomas's medical file." He answered without looking up. "The doctor's notes after her examination when Thomas came back."  
  
Mac leaned over to get a better look. The file was quite thick. "It contains her medical history dating back to when she was first diagnosed with schizophrenia." Harm murmured. He flipped through a few pages and handed Mac a photograph of the patient. It was certainly recent, the bruises and cuts on her face were fresh. Mac put the photo back into the file.  
  
"It says she's suffering from vivid hallucinations and is often violent because of them." Harm continued, "Previous examinations by her doctor have been---unsuccessful. Sedatives are often used. They have her on a bunch of meds--- antianxiety, anticonvulsant and antipsychotic medications. They're apparently not working well."  
  
"Not surprising. Does it say anything about where her parents are?"  
  
"No, it doesn't." Webb piped in as he threw away the candy wrapper. "Her parents are in the military as well and stationed at two different parts of the world."  
  
"Her parents haven't even been here to visit her?" Mac asked, shocked.  
  
Webb sat across from the lawyers leaning back comfortably in the chair. "It would be impossible for them to visit. Besides, I don't think Thomas would remember them anyway."  
  
Before either of them could respond, Bill scurried around the corner and relief flooded over him when he saw the JAG officers. "Sir, Ma'am, she starting to wake up. But she's saying a bunch of strange stuff."  
  
***  
  
"Jesu, nostri miserere, Tu nose pasce, nos tuere, Tu nos bona videre. Tu nos bona fac videre. . ."  
  
Harm, Mac, Webb and Bill watched the girl in the glow of the flashlight say the words over and over again, her eyes tightly shut. To avoid the previous incident, Bill was able to put a straight jacket on her before she woke up.  
  
"Tu nos bona fac videre. Tu nos bona fac videre. Nos tuere."  
  
"What's she saying?" Harm asked as he watched the delusional girl.  
  
"Sounds like Latin." Mac said and then she said the strange words to herself.  
  
"Bill, take the straight jacket off." Harm ordered.  
  
The guard glanced quickly over to the commander. "Are you sure?"  
  
"I told you," Harm said exasperatedly, "She needs to trust us."  
  
Bill took in a breath, getting ready to protest, but a sour glance from Harm made him change his mind. "Fine---fine." Bill muttered more to himself as he tentatively unfastened the straight jacket. Thomas stirred a bit, but didn't lash out.  
  
"Have the sedative ready." Webb murmured from a safe distance near the doorway.  
  
Meanwhile, Mac was studying the words carefully, saying them with the girl. "Tu nose pasce, nos tuere, Tu nos bona fac videre." Mac repeated. "I think I've heard that before."  
  
Harm started to ask her more about it but she shushed him. "Hold it, I'm trying to remember twenty-year-old classes of Catholic school." The Marine recited the words softly and Harm couldn't help but smile. He'd seen her in combat and she could be ruthless, but watching her sit in such peace was something Harm had yet to witness. To his surprise, she started to hum softly and then work the words into the song. Her eyelids suddenly snapped open. " 'Lift Thy Voice and Sing for the Mass of Corpus Christi.' " She whispered. Webb inched into the room, curious.  
  
Harm cocked an eyebrow. "That's what she's saying?"  
  
"No, that's the song." Mac corrected him as she stood, "I'll have to look up the words." She started to leave the room when Harm protested.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
Mac stared at him blankly. "Whatever she's saying could be an impact on this case. All I need is access to the Internet. I'll be back in an hour."  
  
"Wha---"  
  
"A few members from Thomas's team are at the base." Mac said. "Why don't you cross-examine them. I'll call you when I find something."  
  
"It's a strategy." Webb stated, as if he were part of the conversation. "I'll be with you, Rabb."  
  
***  
  
1530 ZULU Quantico Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia  
  
"She was tough, sir. A good Marine." Private Saunders explained.  
  
"Why do you think she'd wander from her platoon?" Harm asked.  
  
The Marine shook his blond head and glanced down. "I dunno, sir. She wasn't one to just wander off. If fact my first instinct, sir, was that she'd been taken."  
  
Harm leaned forward in the rather uncomfortable metal chair, crossing his hands on the desk. "Your report says that you discovered she was missing when your platoon set up camp."  
  
"Yes, sir. We always do a quick headcount."  
  
"How often?"  
  
Saunders shifted nervously in his chair. "Not very, sir. Usually when we stop to rest, but during training missions, we hardly get a break."  
  
"Private, do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against Thomas?"  
  
The question caught the Marine off guard, and his expression was deadpan for a moment. "Um, well, she's one out of the three women in our platoon, sir. Some of the guys rag on 'em from time to time. Nothin' serous, sir."  
  
"Anyone in particular who gave Thomas a hard time?" Harm repeated.  
  
Saunders hesitated, his features blank. "I---I, well, nobody that would, well, in---intentionally, you know, hurt her, uh, sir." The soldier stuttered.  
  
Harm glanced over at Webb who'd been silent at the other side of the small room. The agent nodded, indicating that he knew the soldier was lying. "Private Saunders, I don't have to remind you that at this very moment you could be charged with an Article 34."  
  
"Ar---article 34, sir?"  
  
"False swearing." Harm said, putting emphases on the two words.  
  
Saunders turned his head and, apparently for the first time, noticed the CIA agent. Webb glowered back at him.  
  
"Saunders," The Marine started in his chair, "You knew Private Thomas pretty well, didn't you?"  
  
Saunders rubbed his chin. "Yes, sir, y---you could say that."  
  
Harm opened a file in front of him, taking out a photograph. "I want you to take a look at something." The commander placed the photo on the table and slid it over to the Marine. Saunders bit his lip, again shifting uncomfortably in his chair, and looked away.  
  
"P---please, sir. I don't want to see that."  
  
"Look at her, Marine!"  
  
Saunders sighed deeply and slowly altered his gaze to the photo. Harm watched him as his eyes became transfixed on her beaten image. "That's what four months of torture and rape did to her, Saunders." Harm whispered, "Now she's locked up an eight-by-eight cell, trapped in her own mind. Now, Private, why don't you try telling us the truth?"  
  
Saunders finally tore his eyes away from the photograph. "Sir, I want to make it clear that I'm not making an allegation."  
  
"Your suggestion is noted." Harm said frostily.  
  
Saunders sighed, giving a fleeting glance to Webb. He lowered his voice. "Lance Corporal Stephens, sir." The soldier conceded, "He pushed her around a lot."  
  
"More than the others?"  
  
Saunders' eyes widened. "Yes, sir. I don't think I should say this, but he had it in for her, sir."  
  
"Was there a reason he disliked her?"  
  
The soldier clenched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable at the thought of giving this information away. "Like I said, sir, she was a tough Marine. The Lance Corporal already didn't like the fact that she was woman. But she outdoes him, sir, during a lot of training. She's smart too. A lot of the other junior officers look up to her."  
  
"And Stephens can't stand the thought of a female officer, whom he even outranks, being stronger than he is."  
  
Saunders nodded, his eyes still wide with anxiety. "That's what I draw from it, sir."  
  
Webb stepped forward. "Lance Corporal Stephens is on the interview list, Commander."  
  
Harm nodded. "Okay, Private, you're dismissed."  
  
Saunders stood at attention. "Aye, sir."  
  
The soldier turned to leave, but stopped, massaging his hands nervously. "S- --sir?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Will Arial be all right, sir?"  
  
Harm slowly looked down at the photograph. "She's suffering from acute schizophrenia, Private. She barely speaks."  
  
"Is---is there medication?" The kid asked innocently.  
  
Harm shrugged. "The disease can't be cured. But I'm sure it can be treated."  
  
"Well, if she remembers me, sir, can you tell 'er that I wish her well?"  
  
Harm forced a small smile. "I'll be sure to." But he knew it would be a hopeless endeavor.  
  
***  
  
1540 ZULU Quantico Public Library Quantico, Virginia  
  
Mac typed furiously into the library computer. She knew that song, damn it, and if it meant finding a window into that girl's mind. . .  
  
Mac finally reached a translation site that included Latin translations. She typed in the words that she now had memorized and waited hopefully as the site went to work. Mac watched as a different page turned up. In a box were the words she'd typed, in the other displayed the translation. Mac leaned back into the chair, letting out a breath.  
  
"Well, that's certainly interesting." Mac murmured.  
  
***  
  
TBC  
  
***  
  
Did ya like it? I hope I'm writing the characters realistically. I'll make longer chapters once this story develops more!  
  
I also have a technical question. Doesn't "ZULU" mean five hours ahead of regular time? Like, if it were 1300 ZULU, it's actually 0800? Can anyone clear this up? Thanks!  
  
~sanctus 


	3. Unpredictable

Hey, thanks for the reviews!  
  
miatachick: Thank you for the support! Unfortunately, the link you gave me didn't work!  
  
shorty32539: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! And thank you for the info on ZULU. It confused me a bit when I'd watch the show and there would be a scene set at, like, 2100 ZULU, and it would still be light out. Thank you so much for clearin' this up for me!!!!  
  
Cathy Fisher: I'm glad you came back for more! Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!! :D  
  
Corinne: Thank you very much for coming back! And thanky for the comment!  
  
CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur: Thanks about the ZULU! I'd glad I was told now before I messed it up in the future! And thank you for your support!!!  
  
jagchick105: Thank you so much for coming back for more!!! It means a lot!! Thanks about the ZULU thing, some reviewers have helped me out!  
  
Navy Unspeakable: Wow, you seem to know a lot about this stuff! Are you in the navy, marines, or have parents in the armed forces? I didn't know that about the non-commissioned officer thing. Thanks for letting me know! The link you gave me didn't work though, but that's okay, cause I've used search engines to find info about ranks. Thanks again for reviewing!  
  
flyboyfan: Thank you for all the info! And I'm glad you came back for more! I didn't know much on the ZULU thing so this helps a lot! Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
CAUTION: The history of Private Arial Thomas has rape-relations.  
  
(A/N) I'm bumpin' Lance Corporal Stephens' rank up (okay, *way* up) to First Lieutenant (is equivalent to a Lieutenant Junior Grade in the Navy). I did this 'cause I decided to make him the leader of the platoon and Lance Corporal seemed a little. . .low, to say the least.  
  
Words in between the asterisk (*) are supposed to be italicized.  
  
~sanctus  
  
Chapter 3: Unpredictable  
  
1535 ZULU Quantico Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia  
  
Harm held a grim expression as he watched Private Saunders leave. Webb stared at wall, nothing particularly capturing his attention, but it probably kept his mind off the newfound possibilities. Instead of avoiding the thought of the accusation, Harm focused all his attention on it. Did a jealous Marine actually commit such a crime against one of his own? Whatever happened to semper-fi? Harm shouldn't have found this surprising though. He'd seen too many cases involving traitorous officers. Why was he shaken by this? The mere thought of the possibility that Thomas had been betrayed by one of her own made his blood curdle.  
  
"Doesn't seem right, does it?" Webb commented solemnly.  
  
Harm didn't have to reply.  
  
A knock on the door shook him back to reality. "Enter."  
  
The door opened swiftly and the Marine stepped in at attention. He was tall, over six feet, with a strong jaw which was clenched tightly. His steely eyes stared ahead in that discipline-of-a-Marine way. He was dressed in the usual camouflage garb with his hat held stiffly at his side. His expression was stony, but Harm detected a slight quiver in his eyes.  
  
"First Lieutenant Stephens reporting as ordered, sir!" He bellowed, standing perfectly at attention.  
  
"At ease, Lieutenant." Harm ordered. The Marine did as he was told and relaxed his shoulders slightly, his feet a few inches apart, and drew his hands behind his back.  
  
"Sit down, Lieutenant."  
  
"Aye, sir." Stephens sat rigidly in the chair opposite of the desk Harm sat at.  
  
Harm chose to enter the cross-examination casually. Regardless of your rank, breaking down a Marine was similar to trying to put a hole into a cement wall with your fist. Might as well start out with ease.  
  
"How are you this morning, Lieutenant?" Harm said lightly.  
  
Not a muscle moved in his face to reflect any kind of expression. "Fine, sir!" Stephens shouted again.  
  
Harm cringed. There was nothing like a bellowing Marine in close quarters. "Lower the volume a bit, Lieutenant."  
  
Stephens blinked, but relaxed slightly. A good sign.  
  
"Stephens, you were the leader of the platoon, correct?"  
  
Still no expression. "Aye, sir." And no further information.  
  
"How long have you been in charge of the training missions?"  
  
"Eight months, sir."  
  
"Has it been going well," Harm said, "Besides the incident with Private Thomas?" He added nonchalantly.  
  
Stephens blinked again and momentarily shifted his gaze to the commander, but quickly returned it to the white wall. "I have never seen a more sorry bunch of recruits in my entire existence, sir." Stephens said matter-of- factly.  
  
Harm flashed a wry smile. "Well, considering the way I've heard officers describe their platoon in past, that's more of a compliment."  
  
Stephens' eyebrows drew in a tad, but rapidly realigned.  
  
"How long has Thomas been in your platoon?"  
  
The smallest of a twitch in his eyes at the mention of Thomas's name.  
  
"Since I took command, sir." Stephens said after a moments pause.  
  
"Others have said she was a good Marine, Lieutenant. What's your opinion on her performance?" Harm said innocently.  
  
This time, Stephens did look the commander right in the eye. "There is no such thing as a 'good' Marine, sir---only a perfect one. That's how we're trained."  
  
A small snicker from Webb at the back of the room. Harm altered his gaze to the operative. Webb had always been smug when it came to Marine principles. Stephens didn't seem to notice Webb's affront.  
  
"Thanks for the tip, Lieutenant. Why don't you just answer my second question then."  
  
Stephens took in a shallow breath and leaned an elbow on the armrest. "My opinion is just that, Commander---an opinion. Does it really take precedence?"  
  
The Marine was more opinionated than he thought. "What's wrong with just answering the question, Lieutenant?"  
  
Stephens straightened in his chair, recognizing an order when he heard one. "Nothing, sir." Stephens thought out his answer for a moment. "Mind you, she wasn't a perfect Marine, but she was striving for it. It's---it's a shame, that she went through what she did."  
  
Harm nodded in concurrence. "What was your relationship with Private Thomas?"  
  
Stephens pursed his lips and let his eyes wander around the room. "Relationship?"  
  
Harm glanced down at the file. "Well, you did say Thomas had been in your platoon since you first took command nearly a year ago. You must have established some kind of relationship with her."  
  
Stephens nodded, biting his lip. "One of my recruits mentioned my--- discrepancies with Thomas, didn't they, sir?"  
  
Harm tried not to look surprised. He didn't think Stephens would come right out with it. "Would you care to elaborate, Lieutenant?" Harm said coolly.  
  
Stephens let a chuckle escape. "Thomas is competitive, sir. As am I. We'd clash sometimes."  
  
"Despite your rank?"  
  
Stephens shrugged. "She followed orders, sir. Discipline was not a problem. But she wasn't afraid to compete."  
  
"Well, the others in your platoon seemed to take it seriously." Harm pointed out.  
  
Stephens rolled his eyes. "Well, they take it the wrong way, sir. Sure, Thomas and I have pushed the limits a little, but it never got to the point where I would hurt her."  
  
Harm shot his eyes to the Marine. "Who suggested you would ever hurt her?"  
  
The Lieutenant's smile diminished.  
  
***  
  
1540 ZULU Quantico Public Library Quantico, Virginia  
  
Mac scribbled the words down on a loose piece of paper. She read it over one more time making sure she got it right, and then stuffed it in her pocket. Grabbing her briefcase, she stormed out of the library, receiving a rebuke from an old librarian, and walked swiftly to her car towards the back of the parking lot. Mac fumbled with her keys for a moment before finding the right one and jammed it into the lock. That's when she felt that familiar sensation that she was being watched. Mac let her eyes dart back and forth. Two rows away were a mother and her two children. Behind them was an old man with a cigar. A few cars away from Mac was a kid, a student probably, balancing a tall stack of books in his hands as he inched his way his Oldsmobile Cutlass. Were they the only ones in the parking lot? Couldn't be.  
  
Mac calmly unlocked the driver's side door, slipping her briefcase onto the passenger seat. She then casually glanced behind her to lock gazes with a massive German shepherd, not five feet away. The dog's eyes seemed to glow with fire, and foam dripped from his mouth, as every breath it exhaled came out as a growl. The student with the books heard it and he turned his head to see where the origin of the noise was from. His eyes widened in that deer-in-the-headlights kind of way. Mac tied to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. The rabid animal was but a few feet from her and she didn't even have a leg in the car. She knew what would happen if she moved.  
  
The mother with her children had just noticed the dog and she hurried her children into their car. She then took out her cell phone, obviously dialing 911. The old man with the cigar didn't seem to notice anything going on.  
  
Knowing full well that she could be torn to pieces, Mac immediately turned her eyes away from the dog's. First rule in dealing with a rabid canine--- don't stare into its eyes. The student had gone frozen long ago and as he peeked over his stack of books, his eyes darted from Mac to the dog. He noticed Mac's uniform and he seemed to think that she would know what to do.  
  
"What do I do?" He asked softly, his voice shaking.  
  
Mac clenched her fists. "Don't move." She said, emphasizing both words.  
  
The kid nodded. "Right." He did this well. Good. Mac didn't need to deal with a frantic civilian. The mother gave her a reassuring look that said the police were on the way. Now, Mac just had to stay still, and wait to see what the dog would do.  
  
Short hair stood up at the shepherd's neck and its snout quivered as deep growls erupted from its throat. It bore its teeth just to make Mac even more uneasy. Mac then noticed that it had a collar. Where the hell was its owner? The dog then crouched and took a few steps closer. Mac felt her chest tighten as the dog taunted her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she noticed a figure standing amongst the trees in a woody area just outside the parking lot. She couldn't make out any features, but he stood there, with his hands on hips. Mac suddenly got the sense that this was his dog. She was right. The man made a whistle with fluctuating notes. The dog cocked an ear in the man's direction, and it reared its haunches, preparing to attack. Mac held her breath.  
  
Shrill sirens erupted in the distance. The dog's ears went flat to his head at the sound and it suddenly cowered back. Mac blinked in surprise. A piercing whistle shot through the air, and the German shepherd tore off in the direction of the man. This was Mac's cue---she ran after the dog. When the man saw her coming, he whistled again and the dog sprinted even faster. The man also ran deep into the woods, the dog close at his heels. While this went on, the police and an ambulance had pulled into the parking lot. Several officers stepped out of their cars adorned with protective wear. Mac had stopped running when she got to the edge of the woods; her feet were burning from the high heels she wore. A cop jogged up to her and gave her a once over.  
  
"You all right, ma'am? We got a call there was a rabid dog."  
  
Mac nodded at the woods, the man and his dog long gone. "Some guy, he was in there. The dog belonged to him. He ordered it to attack me."  
  
The cop peered into the woods. "All right, we'll send a team in. You sure you're all right?"  
  
Mac licked her parched lips and waited for her breathing to become normal again. "I'm fine. Excuse me, I need to make a call."  
  
***  
  
Webb mentally stored the new information. So First Lieutenant Stephens was their suspect. There was certainly motive, but Webb didn't see Stephens as the kind who would betray one of his own. He was completely devoted to the Corps. Rabb seemed convinced, but not entirely. To pull off Thomas's kidnapping, Stephens would've had to have strong contact with Chechen military. Or at least have enough connection to make a business deal. Webb would check records and see if the Chechen military had suddenly come upon a large sum of pocket money. In the meantime, efforts would be made to establish some kind of contact with Private Thomas. Her testimony would be priceless.  
  
And where was Mac? She should have called Rabb at least fifteen minutes ago. And everyone knew how punctual the Colonel was. As if on cue, Harm's cell phone went off as he was putting files back into his briefcase. He answered it immediately and before he could even establish pleasantries, Mac was off. Webb could hear her voice faintly and it sounded like she didn't even take a breath. Apparently, the information she had must have been bad and worse because Rabb's expression deepened from a frown to plain concern. This peaking Webb's interest, he sauntered over to Rabb, a question mark clear on his features. Rabb listened to Mac go on. She'd stop to take a breath giving Rabb a chance to put a word in, but she'd interrupt him immediately.  
  
"All---all right, Mac, just------are you okay?" On the other end, Mac's tone suggested annoyance. Webb could make a "Of course I'm okay!", "Oh--- okay, Mac, I'll meet you there. Yeah---yeah, ten minutes----we have information, too. Possibly a suspect," Harm added, giving a glance to Webb. Mac exploded with more questions. Harm closed his eyes in obvious frustration.  
  
"Mac, I'll explain it at asylum. See you there." Harm snapped the cell phone closed and drew in a large breath. Webb stared at the commander blankly.  
  
"Well, what'd she say?"  
  
***  
  
Mac stared at the phone for a moment, her mouth parted slightly in disbelief. He hung up on her! How could he tell her that he had a suspect and hang up on her?! Mac scoffed in disgust and tossed the phone to the passenger seat, deciding that she better concentrate more on driving.  
  
***  
  
"Leave me alone." She'd said it for the umpteenth time, yet they never listened.  
  
*How can we?* They answered. Arial clamped her fists over her ears, though she knew they only existed in her head.  
  
"Please go away!" She cried out, sobbing. Arial could feel them shaking their heads at her.  
  
*We can never leave you. You need us!* So many voices all answering as one.  
  
"You're killing me." She whimpered.  
  
*They* are killing you. You need to be afraid of *them!* The voices replied, referring to the people dressed in white that stabbed her with little needles every day.  
  
Arial nodded reluctantly. "I know. But there is someone new." She whispered. Arial could feel the anger welling inside of them. But there was something else she didn't recognize at first---fear. They feared these new people.  
  
"Why are you afraid of them?" Arial asked.  
  
They didn't answer at first. *They are outsiders. We cannot trust them, Arial.*  
  
Arial narrowed her eyes and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. "But I recognize them. I recognize *him*."  
  
*No, you don't! They will hurt you! He will hurt us!* So much anger! And the overwhelming fear!  
  
"They can help me." Arial realized. She ignored the protests as she figured this out more. "They are here to help me. He is here to help me." It was a revelation. For so long she trusted her voices. She was sure they kept her alive. But they were really just keeping her from getting better. She could hear them screaming at her to stop thinking such thoughts. For a moment, Arial considered letting go. This was done to her. She wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them. She'd put so much faith in her voices. Now she would let go. One by one, she would ignore them. And one by one, they would disappear. Then, she would have her revenge. She would have her revenge on that man. He should have been there. He should have saved her. Now, who would save him?  
  
***  
  
TBC  
  
***  
  
Any suggestions? Comments?  
  
Oh, and I have another request. I tried looking up some information on schizophrenia, (WebMD.com, that sort of thing) and I got some information, but nothing in-depth. Does anyone have any experience dealing with people with schizophrenia? I have a lot of medical info, but nothing about their *actual* behavior and everyday life of someone suffering from this disease. Any info you might offer would help greatly!  
  
Thanks for reading!  
  
~sanctus 


	4. Communication

I'd like to take this moment to extend a HUGE thanks to "jagchick105." I had a crisis earlier with my computer when it was not uploading my documents correctly. I posted an author's note and jagchick105 responded immediately. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, jagchick105!!!!!! You've saved me from having an ulcer (and from damaging my computer beyond repair...)!!!! I owe you so big!!!!!!

***

Thanks for your reviews!

Harm&mac4eva: Hey, thank you for reviewing! Your questions will be answered shortly!!!!

kay- Thanks for reading! And I realized that when you copy stuff to review, it deletes mostly anything that is doubled, so the three w's was changed to one "w". But it works now! And I signed the guest book on your site! I love your site! The ZULU chart is a lifesaver! 

tomcat-all-2001- hey, talk about cutting it close, I was gonna check my email before I posted the next chapter, and there was your review! Thanks! I'm working up to the plot. There are going to be a lot of details in this story so I needed to establish a solid beginning before the real action starts! I hope I don't mess anything up!!!!! 

flyboyfan- Yay! Suspenseful! That's what I'm aimin' for! Thank you for coming back!

miatachik- Actually, it worked when I put two more w's in the link. So it works now. Kay has a great site! And the ZULU chart is fantastic!!! Thanks for reading!!

smithknk- Hey, the link works now! Thank you so much!!!! There will be more answers  and suspense in this and the coming chapters. Also they will introduce a few things leading to what the summery says. More about that at my A/N at the bottom of the page. Thanks for reviewing!  

jagchick105- Wow, I'm glad you like it so much! I'm trying to treat it delicately cause I don't want to insult anyone. I decided to take a chance and I hope it doesn't come off sounding phony. Thank you for coming back!! 

harmsgirl- Yay! I love your enthusiasm! It motivates me so much!!!!! Thank you for reviewing!!! 

I don't think I forgot anybody. . .if I did, please say somethin'! I luv to answer your reviews!

CAUTION---The history of Private Thomas has rape-relations 

Also, this chapter has some pro-Catholic observations, which I know can be very different from other religious views. I'm not putting it in here to force opinions and I hope it doesn't upset anyone. But as the saying goes---"A good author writes what she knows." 

*shrugs* This is what I know. 

~sancti

Chapter 4: Communication

"Look, even _if_, now, _if_, Lieutenant Stephens led Thomas into some kind of trap, the connections he'd have with the Chechen military would have to be _very_ strong." Webb explained once again. 

 Harm waved the car opposite of him into the asylum parking lot. "If you have money, what do they care?"

Webb scoffed. "The Chechen military doesn't trust Americans, Harm, they're devious, suspicious---the only way I can see Stephens making a deal with them is if _he_ was a Chechen!" 

 Harm spotted Mac leaning against the JAG company car at the entrance. She held a frown on her features, and that sharp Marine cover atop her head only made her look even more hostile. Harm parked Webb's car in the empty space next to Mac, her icy gaze penetrating the sailor as he stepped out of the vehicle.

"You're three and a half minutes late." She said dryly.

 Harm shrugged, quite used to Mac's uncanny skill in time management. "There was traffic."   

Mac started toward the doors. "You said you had a possible suspect?"

 Harm filled her in, watching her expression carefully as he revealed the unpleasant information. She listened tentatively, but her attitude then became stony.

"Of course, Stephens swears he has nothing to do with the kidnapping, but---"

"But perhaps he's right." Mac finished for him, her tone clipped. 

 Webb glanced over at Harm---the ball was in his court. "Perhaps," Harm concurred slowly, "there isn't _overwhelming_ evidence that he's the perp, Mac---but, he has motive."

 Mac whipped around on her heel, lacing her fingers behind her back. "Just because he has a grudge, doesn't mean he's guilty of anything."

 Harm narrowed his eyes. Sure, Mac was a Marine, but it seemed she was taking it a tad too personally. And it was enough to make Harm suspicious. "You're defending him a bit zealously, aren't you, Mac?"

 Webb watched this with fascination. The banter between the soldier and the sailor was always entertaining. The Marine scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"I'm not defending him," She said, biting off each word, "I'm just saying we should keep an open mind. There were fourteen other recruits in that platoon who could've been responsible for this."  

 Harm put a hand up in defense. "Hey, my mind's open. But I'm gonna have to give the Admiral something as an update." Harm broke off the conversation there, and walked up the counter where the same unpleasant nurse still typed away at her computer. Harm didn't say anything and waited for the nurse to sense his presence. She eventually looked up at Harm, and sighed.

"Oh, you again. You want to see Thomas?"

Harm nodded. 

"I'll take 'em, Deloris." Harm recognized Bill's voice from behind him, and he turned around to face the kid. At the moment, Bill carried a small tray with two syringes and a few paper cups containing pills. "You're just in time, too. The doc prescribed her some new meds that'll hopefully calm her down."

"Take us to her." Mac ordered. 

Bill noticed the unique rawness in the Colonel's voice, and nodded his head toward the elevator. "Right this way, ma'am."

Mac stormed ahead, Harm and Webb eventually falling in step with her. "So what was Thomas saying before?"

Mac's eyes flashed a tad with annoyance. "Weren't you listening when I told you?"

Harm chuckled. "You told me at a sixty mile an hour pace, Mac. I could barely decipher what you were saying."

Mac's gaze softened some. "_Jesu, nostri miserere, Tu nose pasce, nos tuere, Tu nos bona videre. It's Latin and a verse from that song."_

"And it means. . .?" Webb prodded. 

" 'Thy true flock in safety keep,' " Mac translated, " 'Living Bread. Thy life supply;

Strengthen us, or else we die.' "      

 Harm shuddered as he pushed the elevator button. "A bit morbid."

Mac tightened her lips into a thin line, relaxing her shoulders. Her compassionate side was seeping through. "Sure is. The last verse, 'Strengthen us, or else we die,' she kept repeating though. It was like she was trying to reach out to us in the only way she could."

Webb cocked an eyebrow in uncertainty. "Through a century-old Latin song?" 

"It's just freakin' creepy." Bill, who had apparently been listening to the whole conversation, added.  

Stepping out of the elevator, the four made the familiar route to Thomas's room. Bill again peeked through the window in Thomas's door, though Harm doubted he'd see anything due to the fact that the lights were still off inside. Seeming to be satisfied, Bill balanced the tray of drugs in one hand, and unlocked the door with the other. As soon as the door was open, the four could make out a soft voice singing rather skillfully near the bed.

"_Sub diversis speciebus, signis tantum, et non rebus, latent res eximiae: Caro cibus, sanguis potus; Manet tamen Christus totus sub utraque specie_." 

It was eerie, to say the least. Over and over again, she sang, huddled up on the floor, wrapped in the blankets. Her eyes tightly shut. Bill shook his head in puzzlement. "Amazing. She didn't say a word until you guys came."

Harm glanced over at the kid. "That right?"

Bill knelt next to Thomas, placing the tray down. She didn't seem to notice him and continued to sing slowly. "She wouldn't say anything. Just scream if anyone came near her."

"Wouldn't her doctor consider this a breakthrough then?" Mac inquired.

Bill snorted. "Her doctor doesn't have much faith in 'er gettin' better. I told him about the things she was sayin', and he just told me to give 'er this stuff."

Bill aimed the syringe at Thomas's shoulder when Harm snatched it away. 

"What are ya doin'?" Bill exclaimed.

Harm examined the syringe under the shine of the flashlight. "What king of medicine is this?"

Bill shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?" Harm gave him a doubtful stare. Bill sighed. "Look, the doc prescribes it, I inject." He replied stubbornly.   

"Is this the usual medicine she gets?" Harms asked, examining the other syringe.

"No, but---"

 Harm didn't need any more of an answer, so he emptied the syringes' contents on to the cement floor. Mac didn't try to hide her smile. Usually Harm's impulsiveness annoyed her because it was so different from the way she did things. But this time, she silently congratulated his move.  

"Wha---what are you doin'?" Bill watched in horror as Harm tossed the pills into the toilet. 

Harm glanced over at Thomas, her eyes empty, but the ethereal song still escaping her slowly moving lips. Suddenly, her gaze shifted, and she stared right into Harm's eyes. Right into his soul. Harm looked away. No one else seemed to notice the connection. "I want to see her doctor."

"Doctor Wagner with a patient---" Bill started to say.

 "This is my client and I want to know what's being given to her." Harm interrupted, his tone tinted with anger, "If she started talking all on her own, I don't want more meds to mess it up."  

 Bill let out a sharp, frustrated sigh and glanced down at Thomas. He bit his lip in obvious hesitation. He then shifted his attention to the syringes still in Harm's hand. "Look, sir, Thomas's condition is the worst it could be. I know---my mother had schizophrenia as bad as this," Bill stopped a moment to reflect on the memory. He continued with a solemn tone, "There's no hope of 'er getting better, Commander. She's in a permanent state. The only thing her doctor can do for her is give her meds to keep 'er calm," Bill shook his head, "That doesn't even work sometimes."

Harm inspected the syringes in his hand. "Do you know what these new ones were for, then?"

T he kid pursed his lips and nervously ran a hand through his dusty blond hair. "I have an idea. I saw the doc fill them," His eyes widened suddenly in anxiety, "But you have to understand---the only way she could possibly communicate civilly with us is if she breaks herself out her shell. But, the voices she hears, the hallucinations she sees, they're a comfort to her. She doesn't want to let go of them. And if she does, it could have even more devastating effects on her psyche."

 Mac nodded in accord. "That's true. She may perceive the world completely differently. If she wakes to see that it differs significantly from her own. . ."

"She could go into mental relapse." Bill finished for her. 

Harm nodded in understanding. "So these meds are to prevent her from coming back."

Bill grit his teeth, his eyes sparkling with anger. "I believe so. Doctor Wagner prescribed them immediately after I told him she was speaking. . .even though it was incoherent."

Mac made an incredulous chuckle. "It was anything but incoherent, Bill," Mac said, pausing a moment to listen to the song, "she's reaching out to us without the help of medicine."

Harm tossed the syringes onto the tray, folding his arms over his chest. "It still doesn't seem right though. If there's a chance that she could get better, why would Wagner squash it without a second glance?"

 Webb, who'd been listening with curiosity, stepped forward. "I know what you mean. It's probably to just get her out of here." Webb continued at the request of their questioning looks, "A patient needing this much care has got to drain on the resources. A chance for her recovery means extensive therapy, medical bills that neither she nor her parents have to pay. Plus the fact that her condition would be so unstable, she could easily slip back into a veggie state. Patients can stay here a long time, but with the knowledge that they'll eventually get better and resume their lives with relatives."

Harm swore to himself. "And when he makes his superiors realize she's a lost cause, she'll be send to some hellhole clinic where she'll never see the light of day again."

Bill shook his head one too many times, his eyes large. "No, no, no, Doctor Wagner is an excellent physician. He wouldn't neglect his patients just to save a buck."

"I'll call the Admiral. Ask him to put Sturgis right on it." Harm said without acknowledging Bill's protest, "Looks like we've uncovered another case."

Thomas's singing suddenly became a fraction louder. This time with a different verse. Harm glimpsed over at the Marine.

Mac shrugged. "I have no idea."

Harm knelt down in front of the girl. Her eyes concentrated on his again. She was trying to say something. "Bill, there wouldn't happen to be a priest around here, would there?"

***

"Through the most sacred mysteries of man's redemption may God Almighty remit unto thee the pains of the present and the future life, open to thee the gates of Paradise, and bring thee to everlasting joys. Amen. And May God bless thee, _In nomen patris, et filii, et spiritu sancti_, amen." Father O'Neal recognized the sudden calmness in the man's composure at his words, then the hollow look in his eyes as his eyelids fluttered, then all was still. 

 The nurse sighed as she lifted the blanket up and over the man's head. Father O'Neal blew out the candle on the nightstand and gathered his oils and holy water, putting them into his briefcase. Meanwhile, the nurse quietly unhooked medical equipment, stealing a glance at the old priest every once and a while. O'Neal noticed it.

"Is something wrong, nurse?" He asked calmly. 

The older woman shrugged. "Do you really think all you said will deliver him to some salvation?"

O'Neal smirked. "That's up to Him." He said as he pointed to the ceiling. 

The nurse grunted in response. Father O'Neal stood, feeling his old bones crack. "You're not a believer, I take it?" 

 The nurse shot him a look he couldn't interpret. "I've seen too much death and suffering in this place. What kind of god would do that to his people?"

 Father O'Neal bent down to pick up his worn briefcase. He stared at it for a moment before answering. "I find that we cannot raise the question, How can there be evil if God exists, without raising the second question, How can there be any good if He exists not?" O'Neal said, "And some things we should not know the answers to." He added dryly.

 The nurse, her brows drawn in with anger, opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by someone clearing their throat by the doorway. The nurse's eyebrows rose a fraction and she consciously tucked a hair behind her ear. "Can I help you, sailor?" She said jovially.

The man smirked, drawing his hands behind his back. "Hi, I'm Commander Rabb, this is Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie and," The Commander hesitated when he gestured to the sour looking man next to him, as if unsure if he should introduce him. The man rolled his eyes. 

"Clayton Webb."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

"What can I do for you?" The nurse asked pleasantly.

"Actually, we'd like to speak to Father O'Neal, if that's all right." Rabb relied. 

O'Neal chuckled softly. "Well, considering we're standing in the room of a dead man, why don't we go to my office?"

The three newcomers seemed to just notice the blanket-covered body on the bed, and each straightened slightly. "If that won't be a problem, Father." 

O'Neal gestured towards the door. "This way, gentlemen, ma'am." O'Neal led the way to his office just down the hall. 

Mac smiled to herself as they entered the small office. It reminded her of those days so long ago. The two or so years that her parents could afford to send her private school. The nun's offices were just like this. Solemn. Decorated accordingly with a plain wooden crucifix, a gilded plaque of the Ten Commandments, and a bookshelf filled with thick, dusty volumes. Father O'Neal sat down heavily behind the dark wooden desk, placing his briefcase on it. He gestured to the two chairs opposite of the desk.

"Please, sit."

Mac and Harm took a seat, while Webb stood behind them. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Harm took in a breath and leaned forward. "This may sound awkward, Father, but---how's your Latin?"     

***

Father O'Neal shook his head as he mumbled the words to himself. With the aid of a flashlight, he flipped through the yellowed pages of the thick book, glancing over his thin-rimmed spectacles to see the girl. 

"_Sub diversis speciebus, signis tantum, et non rebus, latent res eximiae. Caro cibus, sanguis potus; Manet tamen Christus totus sub utraque specie_." O'Neal murmured. "Interesting." 

Harm paced the cell impatiently. "Isn't this why you guys spend nine years in a seminary?"

O'Neal chuckled, not taking his eyes away from the book. "Part of the reason. But those nine years were a long time ago." O'Neal looked to the ceiling trying to remember something, "nearly a century actually," He shook his head in disgust, "I'm getting old."

 Harm relaxed and sat down on the cot but started when the old priest let out a sharp laugh. "Ha! I found it! So many verses to that song, I didn't think I ever would!"

Mac and Webb stepped forward. "Well?"

O'Neal repositioned his glasses. "Uh, here we are, 'Here in outward signs are hidden priceless things, to sense forbidden. Signs, not things, are all we see---Flesh from bread, and Blood from wine; Yet is Christ, in either sign---"

" 'All entire confessed to be.' " Mac finished for him. 

Before any of them could answer, Thomas started to shake violently. Bill came to her side, trying to calm her, but she shook him off, sobbing. She threw herself to the ground and screamed the name Harm had been waiting for. 

"STEPHENS!" She cried out. And she shouted the Marine's name over and over again. 

***

TBC

***

(A/N) Okay, a bit overdramatic perhaps, and I know I haven't gotten to the parts that I described in the summery, but some of that will happen in the next chapter where there will still be a few more surprises. I'm using these beginning chapters to work up to the main plot of the story, so, no, I'm not just beatin' around the bush, lol, I know what I'm doin'. And the answers aren't going to be as crystal clear as Harm thinks. . .(hint, hint about Lieutenant Stephens. . .)

And as always, if you have suggestions, questions, or comments, I'd be glad to hear 'em. 

~sancti


	5. Back From The Dead

Thank you for the reviews!

Chloe: Thank you! I love suspense, so I'm glad this is exhibiting some! And don't worry, I have this all planned out, the stalker stuff will be happenin' very soon!!!! (starting in this chapter!)

harmsgirl: Wow, you gasped, lol! Thank you for coming back for more and thanks for your wonderful comments!!!!! 

flyboyfan: whoa, lol, well, I've never heard that said to me before, lol. Thank you very much! But do check out other stories too, I don't wanna be singled out! ;) (btw, I just _loved_ the new story you're working on (_Uncomplicated Feelings_). Do post more of that soon!!!) One story I'd like to recommend is a JAG fic called, "Aftermath." I forget who wrote it (bad me, bad me!!! But I have it saved on my fav story list, click on my profile to get it), but it was _really_ good, _very_ well written and imaginative. Pretty long, but it's worth it! 

jagchick105: Oh, you're making me blush! I really do appreciate it, though. I was gettin' so stressed over it. Oh, and my sn, "et-spiritus-sancti" means, "Of the Holy Spirit." It's part of what the priest was saying which was, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and _of the Holy Spirit._" I don't speak Latin, my bro does, so he's been givin' me a bunch of tips. Thank you so much again for your wonderful comments! 

CAUTION---The history of Private Thomas has rape-relations

(A/N) My Quantico asylum is going to be similar to Bethesda, with the doctors all having ranks and such. That way I can do a hearing for the dereliction of duty (instead of malpractice) at JAG instead of a civilian trial. I've also (again) conveniently put a sanatorium (for permanent patients) at Quantico. 

_~sancti_

Chapter 5: Back From The Dead 

1900 ZULU

Quantico Marine Corps Base

Quantico, Virginia

First Lieutenant Stephens avoided making eye contact with the two officers and the CIA agent. He was in it deep now. They really believed that he had something to do with Arial's kidnapping. How could they? Well, he couldn't really ask that. They had most of the evidence they needed. Nothing tangible, but enough to drag him to a hearing. 

 He felt his veins suddenly swell with anger. Stephens had been angry with Arial, but now he was furious. The first coherent thing she said _had_ to be _his_ name. And now JAG was convinced that he paid off the Chechens to kidnap Arial. They thought he was a shallow, unfaithful jerk with a grudge. God, if only they knew the truth. But they would never believe him, nor would he have the evidence to support his alibi.  

 Stephens knew the Commander was speaking to him, something about him needing a lawyer, which he was already aware of (and one was on the way), but he hardly listened. All he could think about was how he could possibly explain the situation to this man---this commander, a successful JAG attorney, a legendary aviator---and a man completely unaware of the truth. A truth only Arial and he, her lover, knew. Stephens couldn't help but cringe. The one woman he loved more than anyone else in the world now wanted to kill this commander. But of course she mixed up a few of the details. She blames her capture and torture on this man. Yet he didn't do anything, and knew nothing of her existence. It was like watching a soap opera in slow motion. But of course Stephens had believed her, at first. But that was before he found out she was crazy. Found out was that Arial thought herself to be someone she wasn't. She was absolutely convinced! And she practically convinced him too, until he realized none of it could be true. He was glad she was locked up. Because if she were free, who knows what she would do. . .

***

Stephens was hiding something---that much was obvious. But Mac still had the nagging feeling that he was innocent. Was it his complacency? No, most suspects had plenty of that. He just didn't _look_ guilty, yes, that was it. More like merely confused. Harm was quickly losing his patience with him. He would ask Stephens a question and he'd get one of three answers, "I don't know, sir," "I can't remember, sir," or "Not sure, sir." After Harm interrogated him for two hours, he let Webb take a stab at him. No such luck. 

 Mac was about to try, when the door swung open to reveal a civilian. Mac had to restrain herself from groaning. It was Grabaldi. The annoyingly admirable lawyer that defended a Marine Colonel four years ago who was indicted for supplying the Algerians with the materials needed to create chemical weapons. That was also the day Clark Palmer came to the courtroom as Harm (he'd made a cast of Harm's face) and poisoned the Colonel. But, Mac would deal with him. She would've had him beat in the courtroom if Palmer hadn't ruined everything...     

"Major, or, I see it's Lieutenant Colonel now. How nice to see you." Grabaldi said with a cheesy smirk and that coarse New York accent.  

"Mr. Grabaldi." Mac said, barely above a murmur.

Stephens sighed with relief. "They've been grilling me for three hours, sir."

Grabaldi grunted. "Well, I think we're done here, counselors. Or, you are actually. I'd like to question my client in private?" 

The two JAG officers and the CIA operative reluctantly left the room. 

***

"Mrs. DeVault, you're a nurse at Quantico asylum, correct?" Bud inquired. 

The nurse shifted in the witness stand chair and nodded. "Yes, sir, I am. I'm Commander Wagner's secretary."

"And how often does the Commander sign off patients to Quantico Sanatorium?" 

"Objection," Sturgis said calmly, "Calls for speculation."

Bud sighed sharply before turning to the judge. "Ma'am, Mrs. DeVault has been Commander Wagner's secretary for five years. She's a competent witness."

The judge nodded. "Overruled. You may answer the question, Mrs. DeVault."

DeVault glanced over at her boss to see a smug expression on his features. Bud looked at her innocently. "Ma'am?"

She started in her seat. "Um, about three times a month."

"Three times a month?" Bud asked with forced shock. "But the average amount of patients discharged to a permanent facility in Virginia is three a _year_."

DeVault shrugged. "We have a lot of sick patients." She said, her voice hollow and unsure.

Bud swallowed a chuckle. "No further questions. You're witness, Commander."

Sturgis put his pen down and stood slowly. "Mrs. DeVault, as the Lieutenant said, you've known Commander Wagner for five years, correct?"

"Yes."

"And in those _five_ years, have you _ever_ had a complaint from his patients' families?"

At this, DeVault smiled. "No, sir." She said proudly. 

"Thank you, no further questions."

***

"I can't believe I'm second chair." Singer grumbled as she poured her coffee, not actually talking to anyone. "I could blow that guy right out of the water."

"Crediting yourself, ma'am?" Gunnery Sergeant Galindez said cheerfully as he took the other pot of coffee.

Singer rolled her eyes. "I just don't think _I _should be second chair for prosecution in the Wagner case." She said, almost snarling.

 Gunny gave her a crooked smile. "Well, Lieutenant Roberts has been here longer than you, ma'am. The Admiral just thought he'd be the best choice." 

 Singer roughly ripped open a pink packet of Sweet-and-Low. "Roberts is tiptoeing around this case, it's driving me nuts. Does he really think he can beat Turner?" 

 Gunny cocked a dark eyebrow and took a sip of his black coffee. "He has beat Commander Rabb in court before, ma'am."

 Singer shot the Marine a gawk of disgust. "Rabb let him have that one." She scowled and she turned sharply on her heel. 

 Gunny couldn't help but smile. One of the funniest things, or only funny thing, about Singer was her attitude. It was close to unbelievable how uncouth she could sometimes be and still live with herself---and still have a job. 

***

1925 ZULU

Quantico Asylum

Virginia

"So it's only you that's left." Arial said to the lone voice.

_I'm the hardest one to let go of, you know that._ It answered._ I have been with you the longest._

Arial lifted one corner of her mouth into a tight smile. "It's why I saved you for last."

_You know you'll be free if you let go of me. But then you'll be alone. No one to guide you. No one to talk to you._

"I don't need your guidance." Arial responded harshly. "I can take care of him all on my own."

It chuckled. _Right. I know you can. But are you certain he's the one at fault? _

"Of course he is. He left me there. It's like he didn't even care."

_How do you know he's who you think he is? You have no proof!_

Arial shuddered. "I can feel it. I don't need any proof. I can feel it." Arial could sense it shaking its head. That's what Arial liked about this one. It listened to her, agreed with her, and then gave solemn advice. It was never harsh or commanding. It supplied Arial with the most comfort. "Leave now. I'm almost in control."

_Please, Arial. Let me stay. I won't bother you, but I want to know what happens._

Could she trust it? What it telling the truth? It and the so many others had been lying to her for so long. Arial started to lean towards granting its request, but she changed her mind. "I'm sorry. I can't. I need to be in complete control. I don't want you hanging over my shoulder the whole time."

Arial waited a moment. It was struggling with itself. It knew it needed to go, but it wanted to stay just as much. 

_All right, Arial. You win. But be careful._

Arial suddenly lurched forward lying prostrate on the ground. It was like she'd been dropped from a suspended chain. 

She felt the cold cement on her cheek, and it felt wonderful. She wiggled her toes and blinked her eyes. Never did she have so much control. She wanted to laugh, to cry, and scream, to experience every sensation there could possibly be. So long she had been trapped. Four full months. And now, she was free. 

 Arial laid her palms down flat on the cement and pushed herself up to her knees. She felt the muscles in her legs work to hoist her up to her feet. She had always been able to move, but now she _felt_ everything. And it was her own thoughts, her own commands to her brain as it sent messages throughout her nervous system telling her muscles to move. 

 She teetered there for a moment, but then regained balance. And she stood there, fixing her eyes on every corner of the room. It was all very familiar. She'd hardly left the hospital room in the last three days. And seventy-two hours of doing nothing but staring made her very accustomed to her surroundings. But she looked with different eyes now. New eyes, filled with determination, intelligence...and revenge. Arial stretched a menacing smile across her young features. Yes, it was time. But she was still a Marine. A Marine with a crime to report...she better get herself a lawyer...

***

0530 ZULU

JAG Headquarters 

Falls Church, Virginia

Harm rubbed his temples, trying to sooth the pain throbbing in his head. He and Mac had traveled back to JAG that day, less than satisfied. Stephens was their suspect, but the lack of evidence was almost embarrassing. There wasn't any way they could proceed with a hearing, much less a trial, yet. But they needed Stephens in custody in case he decided to jump bail. And at the moment, he had good reason to. 

 Harm continued to stare at the files and papers in front of him, reading the familiar words over and over again, but not really trying to comprehend them. He had too many other things on his mind. For one, he couldn't get those words Thomas had uttered out of his head. 

  _Strengthen us, or else we die...Here in outward signs are hidden...All entire confessed to be..._

Harm tried to put them all together. He tried to look for a connection between the eerie words. Or maybe it meant nothing. Just the ramblings of an insane girl. But then there was the way she had looked at him...

 A rap on the doorframe shook the aviator out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Mac, with a sympathetic smile on her face, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey, Mac." Harm said, stifling a yawn.

 She kept her smile on, trying to keep her face lit up, but her eyes drooped in fatigue. "It's after midnight, sailor. Go home." 

 Harm shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "Can't. Not yet. One of the blessings of not being married."

 Mac chuckled at that. "Yes, well, the only loved one I have to get home to is Jingo who's probably starving."

When Harm didn't respond, Mac realized that he quickly slipped back into his investigation mode. Mac cleared her throat to get his attention. His gaze immediately locked with hers.

"Sorry." He said, his tone flat, "My attention span is kinda short at the moment."

Mac sat down in one of the chairs. "What's on your mind?"

Harm hesitated, one hand fumbling with a pen. "It's Thomas. I---I just wish we could get through to her."

Mac tightened a smile. "Yeah. But that would mean the universe was giving us a break. And how often does that happen?"

Harm filled in a circle he'd lazily drawn on a legal pad. "Not enough." Harm took in a sharp breath, "Do you think---do you think she recognized us? As allies?"

Mac crossed her legs, lacing her fingers over her knee. "Well, she did calm down considerably after our first visit."

"Her eyes." Harm said out of blue, concentrating on the circle he was filling in. "The way she looked at me."

Mac's lips parted in surprise. "She looked at you?"

"More like _into_ me." Harm corrected her, though he sounded more like he was talking to himself. "It was, it was like she _knew_ me." 

 Mac narrowed her eyes in concern. "Harm, she doesn't know you. You realize that, right?"

Harm put the pen down after it ripped the circle he was drawing. "Of course I realize it. But I can't get over it. She did it twice, and each time, I felt a shiver go up and down my spine. There's something about her, Mac. Something familiar."

 Mac leaned back in the chair, her eyebrows drawn in. "Harm, try not to take this stuff personally. That's what gets you thrown off a case."

 Harm continued to stare at the torn circle. "Yeah...I know."

 The Marine chewed on her lip, deciding something. "Look, Harm, this investigation is going to take a long time unless we can get something out of Stephens or Thomas. Now our chances with Stephens are probably better, but Thomas seems to be regaining something of her old self. We can't travel to Quantico every day just to check up on her, so how about we request she be moved back to Bethesda. That way we can go to her whenever we want."

 Harm grunted. "If Bethesda will take her." 

 "If she's getting better, they will. Besides," Mac said with a wide smile, "we can get Admiral's Privilege." 

 Harm was about to reply when his phone rang loudly. Both of them flinched in their seats. They had gotten used to the quiet. Harm cleared his throat and then picked it up.

"Commander Rabb."

"Commander, thank God, I didn't think you'd be at the office this late!"

Harm narrowed his eyes. "Bill?"

"Yeah, it's me, look we have a problem. You know how you said you wanted all and any information concerning changes in Thomas?"

"Yeah." Harm said slowly, giving Mac a confused glance.

"Well, there's been a change...um, she kind of escaped."

***

I dunno about you guys, but I liked writing that chapter!

Write fast?

~sancti


	6. Signs

Thank you for your reviews!

Devorah: Lol, okay, I hope I wrote fast enough! Happy reading! Thanks for reviewing!!

harmsgirl: Whoa, okay! You can bet I'll finish it, I've havin' a blast writing it! Thank you for your support, it means a lot!!!!

starryeyes: Thank you for reading!!!

jagchick105: Ohhh....research.....that was fun.....lol.....no, it was good and I've been learning a lot. Wow, it's neat to get a perspective from someone so perceptive of the details!! Thank you so much for all your nice compliments!!! Oh, and I did get your first review for the last chapter in my email, but for some reason, it didn't show on the review board, yet it registered in the number of reviews. I dunno, they site has been doin' a lot of things so it might have gotten lost. 

Hm, not as many reviews. I probably spent too much time on the beginning and got people bored. Oh, well. I'm glad I still have ye faithful readers! Thank you very much!!!

~sancti

CAUTION: The history of Private Thomas has rape-relations.

Chapter 6: Signs 

1430 ZULU

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

The two JAG officers sat expressionless across from the Admiral. But the lack of physical expression hardly reflected the constant spinning in their heads, for their situation had just gone from bad, to much, much worse. The Admiral perused the report recently given to him, his face drawn and his eyes cold. Harm and Mac waited patiently for the Admiral to speak, but both felt like two kids sent to the principal's office, and they slipped each other tense glances. And Harm couldn't help but want to throw something at that blasted clock that seemed to tick louder with the passing seconds. 

 "Well," The Admiral finally said, breaking the uneasy silence, "the girl went from a veggie state to becoming functional enough to break out of a high-security facility...interesting how neither of you caught this sudden...breakthrough, no pun intended."

 Harm straightened in the chair. "Admiral, during our investigation, we did notice she was becoming...somewhat functional. But, nothing allowing her to strategically plan anything."  

"Do you think she was kidnapped?"

Harm shrugged. "I suppose it's possible, sir. But I believe Thomas would've made quite a racket."

 Chegwidden led his gaze to the report, searching for something specific. "You have written she started speaking..." The Admiral sighed heavily, "in Latin." He said cynically. 

Mac took on this one. "Sir, we considered it a step forward for Thomas, because she hadn't spoken or made any coherent actions—"

"Until you two arrived?" Chegwidden finished for her, quite unimpressed.

 Mac looked down at her hands. "As far-fetched as it may sound, sir, we believe she was rapidly responding to our presence, and in turn—recovering."  

 Chegwidden grunted in response. "Maybe she recovered too fast for her own good." He moved on when his officers didn't say anything. "And now she's running around out there. Who knows what kind of state she's in."

 "I wouldn't be too concerned, sir." Harm said with unwavering confidence, "if she's as unstable as she probably is, it shouldn't be too hard for her to be spotted."

***

Arial dragged the unconscious woman behind a trashcan, propping her up in such a position that it looked like she were simply sleeping. Anyone that would happen to come across her would think she was sleeping off a night of too much alcohol. Arial slipped the young woman's jean jacket over her new clothes, a cream-colored crochet trim top with lettuce edges on the cuffs and hem (a piece Arial grew quite fond of), faded blue-jeans, and a very comfortable pair of black ankle boots, these also once belonging to the girl. Arial guessed she would miss them.  

 Arial also took the young woman's purse and groped through it. Eventually, she found a pocket with makeup. Arial quickly took out a small mirror and put it in front of her face. Arial froze. Was this truly her? This beaten, tired face? Arial made a variety of expressions just to make sure. She then closely examined the bruises and cuts that adorned her features. A bit of Cover-Up would disguise them well enough. She couldn't do much about the cuts. But that was the least of her problems. 

 Arial sat down cross-legged on the ground and removed all of the makeup from the purse. She took her time identifying each piece. 

Base, a light color, and Arial was already quite pale, but it were give her a better complexion. 

Blush. Not too dark, and that was fine.

Eye shadow. A light, sophisticated aqua color. 

Mascara. Expensive mascara, Arial would have fun with that.

Lipstick. A dark, rosy red color that Arial knew would look gorgeous on her heart-shaped lips.  

 Arial grinned in satisfaction. He would probably not even recognize her. But it was not time for Arial to reveal herself yet. She'd leave clues. Just enough to shake him up. Arial was almost giddy with excitement. Her revenge was so near. But first, she'd pay a little visit to her darling boyfriend. 

***

Stephens didn't want to sleep, though his body craved it. How could he sleep? 

Arial had escaped. Stephens mulled over this a bit, trying to make sense of it. For four months, she was in a veggie state and now she was walking around out there on her own. Stephens knew it was impossible. It had to be impossible. 

 The Marine jerked in the cot when a guard hit the bars. 

"Stephens, you have a visitor!" 

Probably his lawyer. Stephens sat up in the bed and ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair. Footsteps approached the cell.

"I don't want to plea-bargain, Mr. Grabaldi. I'm not guilty." 

When he didn't answer, Stephens looked up to find the one person he least expected standing on the other side of those bars. 

"Hello, Luke." 

Stephens shot out of the bed and bolted to the bars. "Arial, what---"

"Shh!" She hissed, giving a glance to the guard who was leaving, closing the door behind him. 

Stephens lowered his voice. "Arial, what are you doing here?"

 Instead of answering, Arial landed a hard kiss on his lips. Stephens took in the full strength of it, and wanted more, but Arial pulled away. Stephens regarded her for a moment. She had let her chocolate-colored hair fall to her shoulders, and that's how Stephens always liked it. Though you could tell her face had taken some damage, she'd successfully covered all the bruises and only a few cuts were still visible. And the makeup, wherever she'd gotten it, adorned her features beautifully. She smiled at his look of astonishment.

 "I clean up well, don't I?"

All he could was nod. "I'm sorry, you know that right? We looked for you day and night, but..." He let it trail off.

Arial pursed her lips, deciding how to answer. "You're not the one that needs to be punished." 

The color drained from the Marine's face at his girlfriend's reply. "Just what do you plan to do, Arial?"

 She graced him with a tight smile. "You know very well what I'm going to do."

Stephens dropped his head, leaning it against the cold bars. "Arial, he's not who you think he is. He doesn't even _know_ you!"

"That's not true!" She hissed. 

 "You're confused, Arial," He said exasperatedly, "you don't know what you're doing!"

Her face suddenly appeared to be that of a child that was being scolded. Arial backed away from the bars and crossed her slender arms over her chest. "I thought I could trust you." She whispered.

 "You can, Arial," Stephens tried to point out, "But this isn't the way to go, I'm telling you!"

 Arial turned away and headed for the door.

"Arial, wait—please!" 

She stopped with her hand on the door, but she didn't turn around. "I'm sorry, Luke," She murmured, "Don't tell anyone I was here."

***

2400 ZULU

Harm's Apartment

Washington DC 

 Harm locked the door behind him and flipped on the light switch. Light flooded the apartment as Harm put his suitcase and cover on his desk. After adjusting to the sudden brightness, he hit a button on the answering machine to find out he had three new messages. Harm played them as he went to fridge to get a bottle of water. 

"Harm, it's your mother. It's after six where you are, why aren't you home having dinner? Anyway, dear, do call me, I need some advice on a...legal problem. I got into a small accident---now don't get worried, I'm fine, just a fender bender, but I'm sure it wasn't my fault yet my insurance agent keeps saying it is. But I really don't trust that man...anyway, please call me Harm. Good night."

Harm made a mental note to do so. 

"Good evening, sir, it's Bud. I know that you're in the middle of a case and I wouldn't think of asking you any time else, but see, sir, the babysitter cancelled on Harriet and I, and we both haven't had one free night just to ourselves in a long time, and Colonel Mackenzie said she's suddenly gotten a cold, though I thought she looked fine today...and we don't think Tiner could really handle A.J., and Mikey isn't in port and won't be for a long time and---"

_"Oh, just ask him, Bud!" _Harriet's voice filtered in through the background. 

"Okay, okay. Anyway, would you mind babysitting little A.J. tomorrow night? It'll only be for a few hours. Thanks, sir, good night."

Harm chuckled in amusement as he poured the water into a glass. 

_"End of message."_ Came the tinny, female voice of the recorder. _"One new message."_

_"Do you ever lie awake at night, Harm?"_

The aviator froze with the glass at his lips. That strange streak of ice crawled its way up his spine. 

_"Do you know how many times I'd lie awake? Wondering when they'd come---what they'd do---for how long they'd do it. The same thoughts every night. The outcome usually the same as well. But you know about the dark place I'm talking about. You've been there yourself, in a way. You've seen people die. People you killed. See, your dark place lies hidden in that jungle, surrounded by death. Mine is a moldy, dark, wet cell. And hate, and pain, and a number of other things I'd rather not mention surrounded it. Though we each have different experiences, the end result is the same. We lock away that pain. Me, I hid myself completely, let the pain take me over. But you---you walk around each day trying to push those thoughts out of your head. You avoid talking about it with almost everyone. I wish I could do that. Forget about all that's happened to me. But I can't. And it's your fault I'm like this. _

_I'll be watching you, Harm. Every time you leave your apartment. When you enter JAG. Go the dry-cleaners...even when you're babysitting little A.J. I'll have my eye on you."_

Having not moved, with the glass still at his lips, Harm heard the click of the receiver as she hung up the phone.

"End of message."

***

Mac carelessly flipped through the channels, hardly paying attention to what was on them. It was just something to keep her thumb moving. She suddenly stopped at a commercial for a fast-food restaurant, momentarily drooling over the quarter-pound burgers they were advertising, and then she moved on. Growing restless, she hit the power button and tossed the remote on the sofa. Mac sighed sharply and slowly gazed at her apartment. 

Empty and silent. Well, empty except for Jingo who slept peacefully at her feet. But even having the lovable animal with her didn't change the fact that she felt alone. And she hated being alone. Mac snatched the remote to her stereo from the coffee table and turned on the radio. She flipped through the different stations, not finding anything to her liking, and in frustration turned it off. This was weird. She was never bored like this, or fidgety might be the better word. Mac felt she wanted to do something and couldn't stand the thought of just sitting here. 

 Mac glanced down at the case files that were scattered all over the coffee table. She grunted in disgust. She'd already memorized the necessary information, she didn't need to read over the same words again. And she never really liked bringing work home. Being home was a rare time when she thought of herself as simply Sarah. Not the Marine, Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie, of the JAG Corps. But the more she gazed at her empty apartment with its almost bare walls caused by her insipid talent for decorating—she realized that that's what she was—Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie of the JAG Corps...nothing else.

 As Mac pondered this disturbing concept, she almost didn't hear the soft knock at the door. Jingo sprung into a sitting position, ready for action. Glad for the interruption, Mac stepped over Jingo and went to the door, looking through the peephole. On the other side of the door, she saw Harm biting his lip. Mac blinked in surprise. Did he discover something about Thomas? When Harm frowned and turned to leave, Mac inwardly chastised herself and rushed to unlock the door. When she finally opened it, Harm had turned back towards the door. A small smile washed itself upon his features, but left as quickly as it came. 

 "Hey, Mac." He said softly. "Nice pajamas." He added rather sarcastically when he noticed her wearing an oversized, pale blue sweatshirt with a heart stitched in the middle...over bottoms with stars on them. 

Mac looked down at her clothes, her cheeks flushing. "They were all I had that was clean. They were a gift." 

"Ah." He said simply.

Mac sighed, deciding to change the subject to more cardinal matters. "What's up, squid? It's kinda late."

 Harm cocked his head to the side to get a look into the apartment. "Can I come in?" He asked cautiously. 

 Mac backed away into the apartment, holding the door open. "Of course."

Once being given permission, Harm wasted no time in doing so. He quickly made his way to the stereo, pulling a tape from his pocket. Mac watched him curiously as she closed the door. 

 "What are you doing?"

Harm closed the tape deck and pushed "play." "This was on my answering machine when I got home." 

 Mac halted on her way to the stereo when the tape started to play. Harm watched her reaction as Thomas made her threats. Mac slowly walked up to the stereo and was standing next to Harm when the tape ended. She stared at the machine as if waiting for more.

 "Well, that's...disturbing." She finally said when Harm removed the tape. "Has she contacted you since?"

 Harm shook his head as he walked over to the couch and sat down. "I get the feeling that she blames me for her imprisonment."

 Mac sat down next to Harm, drawing a blanket over herself. "That's preposterous. She doesn't even know you."

Harm leaned his forehead into his hand, messaging his temple. "I know. But why else would she be watching me?"

Mac chuckled, amused. "Maybe she just has a crush on you."

 Harm leaned back into the sofa and smiled at the thought. "I wish that was all it was."

Mac shrugged. "At least she not speaking Latin anymore."

Harm glanced over at his partner, about to say something, but decided against it. "Do the police have any information about the guy with the dog?" He asked instead.

 The Marine played with a loose string of the blanket. "Detective Moar called earlier. He said he might have some leads but nothing conclusive. I doubt the incident had anything to do with Thomas." Mac added knowing Harm would question it. 

 Mac suddenly took Harm's hand in hers, sensing he needed a bit of comfort. Thomas's case was getting to him. He wanted to help Arial, but was at the same time he was fighting her. 

 Harm didn't seem surprised at Mac's sudden, profound action and he didn't pull away. In fact, the aviator didn't say anything for a while and he stared at the floor, but his eyes suggested he was in deep thought. Mac also had a lot on her mind at the moment. That girl, who was nearly incapable of any speech two days ago, was now a walking, talking lunatic with a taste for revenge—if Harm was right and Thomas really _did_ think he was responsible for her imprisonment. Mac brushed it off. It was too far-fetched. 

 Mac's thoughts suddenly drifted to a conversation she had a few days ago with Harm. They were in the bullpen, and the report on Thomas's rescue was on the overhead. Harm had mentioned that he recognized her. Had they actually met before? Perhaps he had questioned her during another investigation? Or was it more than that? Maybe he even knew Thomas's mother at one time and simply saw a resemblance between the two. 

 Mac felt a tingle in her spine and shifted her gaze to Harm, who stared at her with an amused yet cocky expression.

 "What?" She asked softly.

Harm glanced down at his hand, still clutched in Mac's. "Can I have my hand back?"

 The Marine instantly let go. 

Harm smirked, and gave the Marine a once over. 

 Mac rolled her eyes. "_What_?" She asked persistently.

He then put a hand over Mac's forehead, but she jerked away. Harm narrowed his eyes in mock speculation. "Why couldn't you watch little A.J., again?"

[(A/N) The last line here was inspired by a great writer, flyboyfan. She gave the suggestion of adding this as comical relief. I wouldn't have even thought to add it, so I believe she deserves the credit. Thanks!]  

*** 

 Harm simply sat in his car for a moment outside of his apartment. It was nearly midnight now. He and Mac had talked all night. But not just about Thomas. They swapped stories from their childhood (mostly Harm's, considering Mac's tumultuous past), shared stories of lost loves and comrades. They'd each heard these same tales before, but just talking about them, talking about something normal, cleared their minds. 

 Mechanically, Harm made it to his apartment door and stepped in, but froze at his doorway, his hand still grasping the handle. He'd locked that door before he left for Mac's. He was sure of it. 

 Harm peered into the darkness of his apartment—listening, and letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. He could make out pieces of furniture, the kitchen counter, the dining room table. He watched for movement. None. 

 With his hand still on the door, Harm reached to his left to flip on the switch. Light poured over the apartment—and the desk drawers that had been flung to the floor, the papers scattered in every direction, and cabinet doors that had been left wide open. 

 Harm finally stepped into his home, his mouth agape as he surveyed the damage. The first step Harm took, something crunched under his foot. Harm looked down to see the broken framed picture of him as a boy in that F-14 cockpit. His father at his side. 

 Harm knelt down and brushed the broken glass off the photo, which luckily wasn't damaged. Harm took the almost sacred photo out and placed it on the shelf next to the door. 

 After he'd searched the rest of the apartment, it was clear that Thomas had ransacked it a while ago, probably immediately after Harm had left. He then began the agonizing job of cleaning the place up. 

 Harm quickly surveyed the damage: Several dishes and a lamp were broken. A couple of his father's tapes were also ruined in the process of Thomas's rampage—crushed under the weight of a drawer being dropped on them. Nearly everything in Harm's closet in the bedroom had been torn out and flung to the floor. Even the bathroom had been searched. Harm also discovered his gun was missing—as well as all of his knives and forks from the kitchen and other sharp utensils. Harm understood. Anything that could possibly be used as a weapon was missing. 

***

1430 ZULU

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

"She stole all your eating utensils, sir?" Bud inquired, eyes wide. 

 Harm held up a single plastic fork. "This is all I have left." He said, eyeing it as if it were a precious stone. 

 The Admiral entered the break room heading straight for the coffee machine. "Good morning, gentlemen."

 "Morning, sir." They said in unison.

"Commander, I hear you had a rough night."

 "You could say that, sir." Harm said as he placed the fork with a Tupperware container in the fridge. "Threatening messages, ransacked apartment."

 Chegwidden crossed his arms over his chest. "If I remember correctly, you seemed quite confident Thomas would be caught by now." He said wryly.

 Harm felt an embarrassed smirk play across his lips. "You're right, Admiral, I did. Perhaps this is payback for doubting her abilities."

 The three headed out to the bullpen, which was bustling as it usually was in the morning. Harm stopped when he noticed Tiner standing at his door with a rather confused expression on his young features. 

 "Something wrong, Tiner?"

The Petty Officer didn't seem to notice the Commander at first and he shot his gaze to Harm in surprise. "Um, no, Commander. I just had a very...strange encounter."

 Harm took a sip of coffee before answering. "Encounter?"

Tiner gestured to the doors. "Some Marine Private came in here and she started asking me a bunch of questions."

 Harm's brow creased. "Questions?"

"About you, sir. She asked me if you looked "well rested" and then questioned me about your schedule." 

 Having all the information he needed, Harm gave his coffee to Tiner and dashed through the bullpen to the elevator. He pushed the elevator button several times, but gave up and sprinted to the stairwell. Skipping several steps at a time, Harm finally made it to first floor and out into the parking lot. Harm swept the grounds with his eyes, but all he saw were the small crowds of uniformed personnel, all Navy. No Marine uniforms. 

 Harm interrupted each group of officers asking if they'd seen a female Marine Private. All denied noticing any such person. Harm finally asked the Marine guard at the parking lot entrance. He told Harm he'd missed her by only a minute and that she'd left in a cab.  

 Harm peered down the street, seeing no trace of the vehicle.

***

TBC

***

Whew, long, but that was fun to write. Have a few new things happenin' and you're in store for more twists!!! 

C yas

~sancti 


	7. Before & After

Thanks for the reviews!

ghettonerd: thank you so much for the support! I'm glad you find it interesting! 

Lisa: Eeek! Cruel? Yikes! Lol, I usually can't stand leaving cliffhangers because, I dunno, it just makes me nervous...8^o...anywho, thank you for reviewing!!!

Laurie: Yay! A new reviewer!! Thank you so much for reading!! 

linz: Thank you for your nice comment! I'm glad you're enjoying this, cause I'm havin' as much fun writing it! Did you read chapter six? When you reviewed last it was on chapter 5. 

flyboyfan: Lol, wow, okay, thank you...heh, I love reading your reviews, they are always full of zeal and excitement. I'm glad my story triggers it! Thank you for coming back! Oh, and *blushes*, to tell the truth, I completely forgot about Mac's "cold" when I was writing the harm/mac scene. Lol, that would have been great comical relief to the scene, but it didn't even register in my head. I may repost that chapter with this one with that joke added and I'll give the credit to you! And please, I always appreciate suggestions! I could use all the help I can get! 

jagchick105: Thank you so much! I haven't really experimented with suspense before, but I'm glad it's working! Thank you for coming back for more!!!

kstorm: Thank you for reviewing! Well, it is going, lol, and I know what the ending is going to be, so hang on for the ride and I hope you enjoy it!!! 

~sancti

 Chapter 7: Before & After

"She was _in_ the _office_?! How the hell did that happen?!" Chegwidden bellowed, his voice getting louder with each word. 

Harm searched for the right words. "Technically, she's still in the Marines, sir, but I'm not sure how she obtained a uniform or an ID—"

 "Well, just what _do_ you know, Commander?!" The Admiral ordered. 

Harm had been standing perfectly at attention, her gaze focused straight ahead, but he now looked the Admiral right in the eye. "She's playing with me, sir. Showing me she can do anything she wants and get away with it. And it's working."

 Chegwidden scoffed, throwing a disgusted look to Webb, who sat comfortably in one of the chairs opposite the desk. The Admiral sat down in his own leather chair, staring disapprovingly at Harm. 

 "Webb, what do have?" He said, a tad bit calmer. 

Webb perked up at the sound of his name, straightening in the seat. "We've contacted Thomas's parents. But they don't share any interest in the matter. Apparently, they haven't even seen their daughter since she was twelve and don't have any concern to see her now. They said she was a, and I quote, 'monstrous atrocity and embarrassment to our family.' "

 Harm let out a low whistle. "Affectionate. Who had custody of her when she was a minor?" Harm asked.

"Thomas's aunt. Mrs. Pearl Bennett. But she died shortly after Thomas joined the Corps."   

Chegwidden sighed, curling his lip. "What about her friends, did she have any outside the Corps?"

 "We were going to contact her high school next." Webb replied. 

"Where is it?" Harm asked.

"Long Island, New York. West Islip."

"I'll go," Harm offered, "She's still my client and I'd like to have her information first hand."

The Admiral scrutinized over the thought, and concurred, reluctantly. "Permission granted. Leave immediately. And go with him, Webb."

***

1730 ZULU

West Islip High

Islip, New York

The students regarded Harm with confused glances and whispers as he and Webb made their way through the crowd in the hallway. The lunch bell had just sounded and the corridor was packed with students. Harm cringed remembering his high school years. After his little sojourn in Vietnam and when he was admitted back into school, he kept to himself for a while, finding it hard to explain the cuts on his face and arms and other abrasions. And part of him must have thought he was still in the jungle: He'd hear a locker door slam and his instincts would kick in, making him ready for a few Viet Cong to suddenly burst through the crowds with AK-47's, which earned him some teasing. There were also the few scuffles he'd get into, all of them he'd win, which eventually gave the students a good reason to respect him. But when he finally reached his senior year, he gratefully fell back into the normal high school life. Dating, hanging out with friends. But that junior year had to have been the worst of his life. And he'd never forget it. 

 After asking for directions, the sailor and CIA agent found the principle's office. The secretary eyed the two with drawn in brows. 

 "So let me get this straight, you're from...JAG, and you're...with the government?" She confirmed cynically, a strong Brooklyn accent accompanying it.

 "Correct. We'd here to obtain records of a past student." Harm informed her.

The secretary laughed, her tone mirthless. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, student records are sealed." 

 "We can come back with a court order, ma'am," Harm said seriously, all the while hiding a smile, "But I'd like this to be the last time I have to deal with Long Island traffic."

 The secretary stiffened in her chair, sighing. "Fine. Student's name?"

"Thomas, Arial."

She looked up the information. "Uh, uh. No such name."

Harm gave a sidelong glance to Webb. "Try Bennet, Arial.

The secretary stopped typing and shifted her gaze from Harm to Webb. "Bennet, huh? What's she done now?"

"You remember her?" Webb inquired.

She scoffed. "Remember her? That kid was like a bad cough. I don't even need to pull up her records to tell ya what she was like."

 "We'd like to have the printed version anyway." Harm insisted. 

"Well, all right." She said with a sigh. She typed away, bringing up the information on the monitor. "Okay, we got grades, suspensions, injuries." 

Harm took off his cover, putting it under his arm. "Suspensions and injuries?"

She eyed him credulously. "Oh, yeah, she turned into a regular urchin, after her sophomore year. Gettin' into fights...and finishing them."

 The secretary started to print the information out. 

"What about her grades?" Webb asked.

She quickly reached the information. "Uhh, here we go. A's and B's."

Harm took the pages already printed out, scanning them quickly. "Any extra curricular classes? Sports?"  

 "Hmmm...nope. Nothin'. Well, that is if you count the frequent visits to detention."

Harm made a half smile, gathering the rest of the information into a folder. "Last question. Did she have any friends, boyfriends?"

The secretary leaned back in her chair, thinking for a moment. "She was, um, pretty anti-social, but she had one or two friends she made in detention. She was fairly close to one, what was her name..." She snapped her fingers trying to remember, "ah, yeah, Gracie...Miles, I believe. She's in her senior year."

 Harm put his cover back on. "You know where we can find her?"

She looked up her schedule, now trusting these two men much more than she did three minutes ago. "Okay, she should be on her lunch break. Um, a lot of the kids hang out at the fountain, by the basketball court. Ask around there, and you'll find her."      

***

 "Gracie Miles?" 

The girl sitting at the edge of the fountain whipped her head up from the thick book in her hands. She was pretty, with long dark, almost black hair that fell to her elbows. Large, icy blue orbs stared at the two men behind small, thin-rimmed glasses. She wore a maroon button down shirt with rolled up sleeves, over faded blue jeans. Noticing Harm's uniform, she became rigid and fiddled with a medallion that hung from her neck. 

 "Yeah. W—who are you?"

"This is Clayton Webb and I'm Commander Rabb, with the Judge Advocate General."

She cocked a thin, dark eyebrow. "The who from what?"

Harm cracked a smile, easing some of the tension in the girl's face. "An office of Naval attorneys."

"Oh." She said unenthusiastically, "sorry, I'm not in the Navy and don't know anyone in it." Gracie grumbled as she jammed the book in her backpack. 

"What about the Marine Corps?" Webb asked. 

She froze after swinging the book bag strap over her shoulder. "Marine Corps?" She said barely above a whisper, her voice with a shake. 

 "You were friends with Arial Bennet, right?" Harm tried to sound as friendly as he could, seeing that the girl had gone completely pale at the sound of Thomas's name.

Gracie repositioned her glasses and proceeded to fidget with the medallion again. "Yeah, we were friends."

 Harm sat down a comfortable distance from her on the fountain ledge. "For how long, Gracie?"

She swallowed and tucked a hair behind her ear. "Since our sophomore year. We met in detention. I was the only friend she had. Then when our junior year ended, she...she just left."

Harm expected that. "Did she say why?"

Gracie bit her lip, hesitating. 

"It's all right, Gracie. You can tell us." He said softly.

The girl put her backpack in her lap against her chest, wrapping her arms around it. "She said she was going to look for someone," She said shaking her head, "Our entire junior year she spent studying the Marine Corps. Arial said she thought it would give her a good chance at finding him since he was in the military."

"Who?"

Gracie rested her chin on the backpack. "Her brother." She said casually. 

Harm could almost feel his heart momentarily stop. Brother? _Does Thomas think that I'm..._ Harm wasn't sure if he could say it. He shot a look to Webb who shook his head in disbelief. 

 "Gracie, did she say anything else about her...brother?"

She shrugged. "Not really. Just that she really wanted to find him."

 Trying to put the thought out of his head, he decided to approach another angle. "Gracie, were you aware of Arial's condition?"

She nodded, her gaze fluttering to the other students, then back to Harm. "She told me about it. No one else knew she was a schizoid. It freaked me out at first. Arial said she heard voices," Gracie bit back tears, remembering an incident, "sometimes she'd scream, you know, during a test or something. She'd just totally crack. Screaming over and over again for 'them' to leave her alone. It made her a major target for teasers. Once, a cheerleader was ragging on her bad, and Arial broke her arm. It almost got her expelled. But her aunt fought it."

 "Mrs. Bennet?"

"Yeah. She had a heart attack though. Happened right after Arial ran away to enlist. I'm not even sure if Arial knows she dead."

 Harm stared at the manila folder in his hand, carrying Thomas's entire high school life. "Gracie, has she contacted you since she ran away?"

"She sent a few letters while she was in boot camp. They stopped though about eight months ago. Um, why you're asking me all this?"

 Harm carefully explained as much as he could while staying within the legal guidelines (and making sure to keep his involvement out of it). Gracie nervously bit a nail as she listened to the eerie story unfold. 

 "We're trying our best to find her. But she's smart. It won't be easy." Harm finished, his thoughts temporarily returning to the message Arial had left him. "Gracie," she let her gaze match Harm's, "do you have any idea where Arial might be? Did she have a place she liked to go to? Some place that comforted her?"

 She thought it over for a minute. "Arial was a survivor. She could adapt to almost anyplace. But her one weakness was D.C. We took a class trip there once. She'd been there before, because of her parents, but that was a long time ago. She loved the monuments."

"Anyplace in particular?"

She thought again, her blue eyes narrowing, but then they brightened up. "The Wall. Her grandfather's name is on it. She only goes there when she's upset, though. It comforts her, so she told me in the letters."

 Harm studied Arial's photograph from her file. "Do you still have the letters?"

 Gracie dug through the papers in her locker, rummaging through folders and books. "I left them in here somewhere," She handed Webb a few books to get them out of the way. 

 He reluctantly took them, his expression smug. He studied the covers nonchalantly.        " '_History of the Marine Corps'..._'_Semper Fidelis: What It Means To Be a Marine._' " Webb stated, reading off the covers.

Gracie momentarily stopped, her head popping out from the locker. "Oh, those were Arial's. She gave them to me before she left."

"Anything else she gave you? Any personal possessions?" Harm asked, his curiosity heightening. 

She stacked a couple more books into Webb's arms. "Um, a few things. Some jewelry. Photographs, stuff like that—here they are. Sorry, they're a little bent."

 Gracie handed Harm four letters, all stuffed in a single, battered envelope. The shrill bell sounded and the girl scowled, hurriedly relieving Webb of the books, all but throwing them back into the locker. "Sorry, I gotta go or I'll be late for trig. You can keep the letters."

Harm gave her a reassuring smile. "Thank you, Gracie. You've been a big help."

 She returned the smile, but sorrow was still visible in her eyes. "Please find her, Commander. With her past, and what's happened to her, I can't even imagine what kind of state she's in. And whoever she's after...well," She massaged her hands nervously, "let's just hope she never finds him."    

***

1845 ZULU

Delta Airline

22,000 Feet Above Sea Level

Harm skimmed through the pages from Arial's school file, realizing that even before she was diagnosed with schizophrenia, she was anything but a model citizen. 

Webb grunted, reading a few papers Harm had given him. "Incredible. She's had multiple violations since she was ten. Started out with petty theft from convenience stores. When she turned twelve, she made her first assault. Threw a stapler at a teacher. Gave him seven stitches. Junior High, same stuff, theft, assault. Then high school of course, she even spent two months in the juvie. Eleventh grade sparked even more violence, but she got creative."

 "Tear gas." Harm finished for Webb, "she released some in the gymnasium during cheerleader practice." 

Webb scoffed and asked a passing stewardess for a bottle of water. "She certainly had a grudge against them, didn't she?"

 "So," Harm continued, "she changed her name, probably faked a résumé, possibly even stole her dead aunt's social security number and joined the Corps. Charming."

 "And now she's after you." Webb pointed out, slightly amused. 

Harm gave the operative a look that would've made Rambo shake in his boots. Changing the subject, Harm read through the letters Arial sent to Gracie. 

"Anything interesting?" Webb asked while taking the bottle of water from the stewardess. 

 Harm handed two of the four letters to Webb. "Nothing that jumps out. Her last letter's dated February 18th. A few days before her platoon shipped out to Russia for the special training. No wonder Gracie didn't get anymore letters." Harm added morbidly. 

 "Hm, listen to this, in her first letter, she expresses her, 'intense attraction to the leader of her platoon, Lieutenant—" Webb stopped reading, his expression dropping a few degrees.

As soon as Webb stated "leader," Harm felt a knot sharply tighten in his stomach. "Lieutenant Stephens." He said faintly, "When she screamed his name, she wasn't accusing him...she was _calling_ for him." 

***

Interrogation Room 3

Stephens wasn't sure what to say. He just continued to stare at the letters that were shoved into his face. Grabaldi saw this as a break. It was illogical to think Thomas's lover would purposely have her kidnapped and hauled to a Chechen prison. All right, so legally, he was pretty much off the hook, but his pride and honor was not something to be proud of. He, a twenty-six year old First Lieutenant, had relations with a recruit, who was even a minor for a few months. That would earn him some fraternization charges. But his lawyer wasn't concerned.

 Grabaldi read through the letters, his expression one of complete apathy. "I believe thanks are in order, Commander. This proves my client would've never endangered Private Thomas. Of course we can't do much about the fraternization charges. We'll make a deal."

 "Don't be so sure, Grabaldi," Harm muttered, "we know Thomas _thinks _she's in love with the Lieutenant." 

"Commander, perhaps if you read those first two letters over again, you'll see the...intimate details Thomas provided of her relationship with my client and how he reciprocated those feelings."

Harm sat down directly across from Stephens, his eyes filled with a fire. "I believe this matter can be resolved with a simple question. Lieutenant, _were you or were you not having intimate relations with Private Arial Thomas?_"

He loved her. How could he deny it? It would be a permanent blemish on his record though. "I was, sir." Rabb took in a breath, leaning forward with his hands crossed on the cold, metal table. "And I still am." Rabb's eyes widened.

 "Has she contacted you?" He asked, his voice rigid. 

Stephens nodded. "Yesterday afternoon, sir. She visited me."

***

2330 ZULU

Harm's Apartment

North of Union Station

Washington D.C. 

Harm fumbled with the keys, searching for the new one since he changed his locks. Finally finding it, he unlocked the door, but didn't open it. Something told him not to go in. There was suddenly that familiar cold streak up and down his spine. He'd been getting a lot of those lately. Harm glared at the gray metal of his door, spotted with rust. 

 _Damn it, Harm, she's scaring you out of your own home._ The sailor scowled and pushed open the door, flipping the switch. His eyes traced over everything and his heartbeat returned to a normal rate. That is until he noticed the figure sitting in his chair, feet on the desk, and book in hands. Harm didn't move. She sighed, putting down the book, while a cocky smile flashed over her features when she saw him.

 "Hello, Harm. Nice to see you again." Arial pulled a 9 millimeter, training it on Harm.

***

wow, my first cliffhanger. I usually have trouble writing cliffhangers cause *I* get nervous leaving them like that...I'll have the next chappy up soon!

~sancti


	8. Return To The Grave

REVIEW RESPONSES 

kristin: Wow, thank you! I can't believe you reviewed so quickly, lol. I'm glad you're enjoying this and thanks for coming back!

jagchick105: Thank you! I had a lot fun writing that chapter (concerning Harm's high school years) because the show never experimented with it. So I'm like, "dude, I can write whatever I want!" Lol, it was fun. Hey, don't hurt your computer!!!!!

Devorah: heehee! Cool! Hope this was fast enough!!!!!

steveperrysgirl: Here it is, as asked!!! Thank you for reading!!!!

flyboyfan: LoL, I enjoyed adding that last comical bit to chapter six. Thanks again for the idea! Lol, well, since the school year is rollin' back in, I probably will be updating only on weekends or late Fridays, cause during the week can be very slow. This story isn't over yet!!!! Don't forget to update "Complicated Feelings"! You've got a great start there!!

Melanie-Anne: Thank you for reviewing and telling me what you think! I'm so glad you like this! 

tomcat_all_2001: LoL, hope you like it! Thank you for reviewing!!!

courtney: thanks, didn't even realize it. And I doubt too many others noticed either since they didn't say anything. I'm fixin' it now. 

Sorry this took a little longer, folks. I had to re-read the whole story, make sure everything made sense because the truth is about to be revealed (like, all of it, which I probably shouldn't have done, but, oh well.)! So this chapter takes place all in one scene. Happy reading!!!

~sancti

Chapter 8: Return To The Grave 

"Hello, Harm. Nice to see you again." Arial pulled a 9-millimeter, training it on Harm.

He felt his chest tighten. He searched through his options, staying calm. 

 _All right, Harm, you have no gun, and no weapons. Not really a means of escape since she has a gun aimed at you. But I shouldn't thinking about escape. This may be the only chance I get to catch her. So your goal now is to neutralize the threat. Wait until the right moment._

Arial stood, careful to keep her weapon aimed at the sailor, as she moseyed over to the refrigerator. "I noticed you don't have much to eat, Harm." She stated, opening a cabinet door.  

"I don't need much." Harm replied, his tone flat.

The Marine chuckled. "What, no red meat?"

Harm let her ramble. Letting threats talk to themselves was a good way to see what really was on their minds. Interrupting them might disturb whatever thoughts might be important. 

 She hoisted herself up on the island counter, crossing her legs. She then turned the gun over in her hands, and then held it up. "Recognize this? It's yours. Nice model. You haven't cleaned it though. When was the last time you fired it?"

Harm didn't respond. 

 Arial rolled her eyes. "Funny, you were so eager to hear what I had to say two days ago."

"Things have changed." Harm finally replied. "Specifically you, Private Thomas...or is it Bennet?"

 Arial's smile diminished. "What did you say?"

Harm crept closer to her, watching the gun carefully. "That is your real name, isn't it? Your father's name is Colonel Howard Bennet, am I correct?"

 Arial tightened her grip on the weapon. "I don't have a father."

Harm nodded in understanding. "I don't blame you. Your parents practically disowned you at an early age. You were sent to live with your aunt in New York."

 "Stop it." She ordered gravely.

"In fact, your whole life has been something of a nightmare," Harm continued blithely, "you were expelled from two schools, went to juvenile hall for some time during high school, you were teased relentlessly by other students—"

Arial hopped off the counter and started to pace around it, her eyes to the floor. Harm followed slowly, watching the weapon. "You had only one friend for three years, Gracie Miles—you remember her?"

She shook her head sharply. "No." Arial answered, her tone clipped.

 Harm narrowed his eyes. "No? She was your best friend. And, apparently, she's been doing quite well. She's made honor role every year, has a boyfriend. She's even been accepted to a good college. Oh, by the way, we visited your 'boyfriend' earlier today. He told us you paid him a visit. He said you talked about punishing someone."

Arial suddenly stopped pacing, pointed the gun at Harm and pulled the trigger. On instinct, Harm ducked, or took cover, as Mac would say, when Arial raised the weapon. The gun went off, the sound reverberating off the apartment walls. When Harm didn't hear anything else, he slowly straightened, glancing around the room. He looked behind him and noticed the bullet hole in one of the vertical blinds that separated the bedroom from the kitchen. She would've hit him if he hadn't acted quickly enough. 

 Harm slowly brought his gaze to the Marine. She held the gun loosely at her side as tears slowly made a trail down her cheeks. "Luke is the one that's been punished." She spat, her voice trembling. 

 Harm understood immediately. They had released Lieutenant Stephens earlier since they couldn't charge him with anything serious enough to keep him in confinement. Arial had taken that chance to eliminate him. She killed her own lover. And she had nearly killed him.

 "Arial," Harm moved towards her slowly, his eyes still on the weapon, "What happened to you was terrible. And you're still a victim here. I can help you, but only if you tell me the truth. What happened to you that night four months ago?" 

 Arial looked at him with drooped, sad eyes. Harm could see the pain still lingering in them. It was a pain that would probably never go away. She backed away to the couch at the window, sitting down, resting the weapon in her lap. Feeling a little awkward at the sudden change of events, Harm cautiously made his way to the armchair across from her. Arial stared down at the gun, her expression blank.

 "Do you remember that night, Arial?" Harm urged, leaning forward in the chair.

"I'm thinking!" She hissed. Harm should have known better. Just because they were sitting down together and talking didn't mean they were suddenly best friends. Harm stayed silent, letting the thoughts come to her.

 "It was dark," She began, "and cold...muddy. We were training for night missions. We were over a hundred kilometers from Chechnya. But snipers were said to have been spotted in the area. So we were warned to take precautions...get me something to drink. Water." She said suddenly.  

 Harm obeyed, coming back with a bottle of water. She grabbed it, taking a swig before returning to her story. 

 "Luke had us hiking all night. We wanted to rest...we needed to rest. But he said if it were wartime, there wouldn't be any time to take a break. So we kept going. It must have been 0200 when we finally stopped to camp. I was at the end of the line. Private Saunders was a few meters in front. Saunders and I were given the order from the front to guard the perimeter since we were last in line. That meant emergency rations and the only protection from weather was pine branches. I told Saunders to go ahead with the rest of the camp. I could handle it myself. He was reluctant, but he left, eventually. I cut off good size branches to make a shelter, and I still had to lie in the mud. But I was well hidden...it was so cold," She emphasized again, almost trembling from the vivid memory, "I had to keep resting in different positions, because my legs would go numb. 

 "About half an hour later, I heard the first crunch into the frozen branches and leaves. It came from behind me, so I figured it was someone from camp, probably Saunders. They always do a headcount when we stop to rest."

 "But it wasn't Saunders." Harm deduced.

Arial shook her head. "No. We were trained how to be perfectly hidden while in a wooded area. But he knew _exactly_ where to find me. Next thing I knew, I had a hood shoved over my head. I tried to fight, but others came out, holding me down. When I knew I couldn't retaliate, I tried to scream. But they gagged me with a rag. My hands and feet were tied and I was carried through the woods."

 "Did any of them say anything?" 

Arial drank more water before answering. "No. I was carried to a truck, and then I was knocked out. After that, it's just a blur. I remember being carried out of the truck...I heard loud, boisterous voices at one point. I assumed they were other prisoners. They all spoke Russian. I was thrown into a cell...and then the guards came to...interrogate." Arial stopped there. Harm didn't have to know anymore. Though Arial's story painted a picture of what happened, it still didn't lead Harm anywhere closer to finding out why it happened, and who was responsible.  

 "But why?" She said abruptly.

"Why what?"

A familiar hatred suddenly filled her bloodshot eyes. "Why didn't you come?"

 Harm cocked an eyebrow. _Why didn't I come? What the hell is she talking about?_

"What are you talking about, Private?" He commanded as he stood. 

 Arial stood as well. "Haven't you figured it out by now, Harm?"

 He had a theory, but was afraid to suggest it. 

"You say you talked to Gracie. Did she let her big mouth run off?" 

 Harm thought carefully before answering. No way to get around it. "She mentioned you were searching for your...brother."

Arial smiled, rolling her eyes. "Ah, yes, that whole mess."

 "You speak of it as if it's in the past." Harm said, narrowing his eyes. 

She stared down at the floor again. "It is. But it's a complicated matter, which means there usually are a lot of loose strings. You're one of them." She added, pointing at him.

 Harm backed away towards the kitchen, his head spinning some. "What is this all about?"

 Arial stared at him, confused. "Don't you recognize me, Harm?"

He quickly shook his head. The girl was crazy, anything she'd declare would be hearsay. "No."

"Oh, come on, Harm. All that time when I was missing, and the news stations were continually putting my photo up, didn't it seem like you knew me?"

 _Yes._ "No."

Arial walked up to him. "You see, this isn't one of your run-of-the-mill cases that can simply be solved by a little detective work and some government contacts. My situation runs deeper than that." 

 Harm quickly pulled himself together, now desperate for answers since he was so close. "And just what is the situation?"

"Does the name Andrew Garner ring a bell?"

Harm felt his breath catch his lungs. He hadn't heard that name in almost twenty-three years. Arial smiled at his reaction. "Good, I'm glad you remember."

Harm dug through his memories, before law school, before the academy, and back to the jungle. The blistering, humid jungle. Corporal Andrew Garner. A Marine sniper. He and Striker had met up with him in a small, very poor village. The Corporal was an expert with his weapon and was invaluable to them when they needed to get past a heavily guarded area. 

 Corporal Garner was a few years older than Harm, searching for his uncle who was also M.I.A. Garner constantly talked about his family, and it was a large one at that. He'd get all stirred up, chatting about hunting with his dad (the only other guy in the house), chasing away the guys that ogled his sisters, and the long, humid summers he'd spend with his girlfriend. Harm had a love-hate relationship with those stories, because he knew he'd never experience them, but just hearing them made him glad that at least _some_ people in this world were happy. Garner always used to talk about how excited he was to get home, but he knew he'd never leave until he found out what happened to his uncle. Harm seconded those feelings, thinking about his mother and his home, as quiet as it was compared to Andrew's abode. He'd missed his grandmother too. Hell, he'd even missed Frank. 

 But war was war. And this was a dirty one. Harm and Andy saw people die every day. So the two had made a pact. If one of them died, the other would always look after his friend's family. Just keep watch on them. Harm had to break that promise. As Andy died in his arms, Harm told him he'd look after his sisters, all four of them. He'd visit them. He'd make sure they married the right guys. He'd be a true friend to that family. But after returning to America, calming his parents down, and finally falling back into a normal life, looking after the four sisters of a friend he'd known for only a month didn't seem realistic.

"You sent a letter." Arial murmured, "A _freakin' letter!_" She shouted. 

"You weren't even born yet, Arial." Harm pointed out. 

She waved a hand in the air in frustration. "What the hell does it matter?! When Thomas Garner found out his son was dead, he had a heart attack! My mother had to deal with _two_ funerals! Then she remarried to Major Howard Bennet, my father." 

 Harm connected it all. Arial, with her mixed up mind, had looked for someone to save her when she was a P.O.W. And he was the one person she thought would come for her. 

 "Why did you say you were looking for your brother?" Harm asked softly, "He's dead."

She laughed suddenly, a maniacal, haunting laugh. "I know that! But you never gave Andrew the honor of being buried in America. His body's in a hole somewhere in that damned jungle. I'd hoped joining the Corps would eventually bring me there so I could search for him, and give him the chance at a proper burial."

 Harm closed his eyes, taking in the information. For almost nineteen years, he strongly affected someone's life and didn't even realize it. But maybe now, since the truth was out, he could calm Arial down. 

 All hope suddenly washed away though when he heard the 9-millimeter cock. Harm brought his gaze to the weapon, held firmly in Arial's hand as she pointed it at him. The look on her face was vengeful, but her eyes still held that sadness, and she smiled ruefully. "You broke a promise to a dying man, Harm. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

 Harm slowly shook his head. "Not anymore." He said truthfully. 

His answer stirred the anger in her face, but she didn't pull the trigger. Instead, her eyes fluttered, and her features twitched with pain. "No." She said weakly. Her balance wavered. Harm took a step forward, hesitated, and then grabbed her arm.

 "What's wrong?"

She dropped the gun. "They're trying to come back," She said weakly, "they're coming back! I can't let them!"

 The voices. Of course, Arial was still unstable. "Fight them, Arial." He ordered, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"I can't." She cried weakly.

"Yes, you can, Marine!" 

She wrenched herself away from Harm's grasp, stumbling backwards, with both hands on her head. "Go _away!_" She screamed. 

 All Harm could do was watch. Watch her slip back into the dark place she'd ripped herself away from two days ago. And as he watched her curl up on the floor, screaming in agony, he felt his heart break, because there was nothing he could do.          

***

TBC  
***

The little jungle story up there is obviously fake, and Andrew Garner is completely from my imagination.

ANOTHER NOTE: This story is so not over yet. I don't plan on Arial returning to the total veggie state. She'll still be able to communicate. And besides—there's still an investigation to complete! :)

~sancti


End file.
